


Not With a Whimper, But a Bang

by emptydistractions, seleneheart



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Revenge, SHIELD, Shapeshifting, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-02 05:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16299446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptydistractions/pseuds/emptydistractions, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seleneheart/pseuds/seleneheart
Summary: Steve Rogers never thought he’d even see a dragon in real life, much less have one living with him.Or occasionally making out with him while also making plans to kill Steve’s boss.But life is funny like that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the wonderful artist [Seleneheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seleneheart/pseuds/seleneheart)! If you want to check out more of her art, go [here](https://acme-graphics.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Also, a big thanks to [tajargirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tajargirl/pseuds/tajargirl) for the beta!

* * *

Later, Steve would realize, that what happened that night and everything that followed was all technically Natasha’s fault. 

Maybe a little bit his own, but definitely mostly Natasha’s.

They had spent the afternoon sparring, for a lack of anything better to do. There were no current missions and absolutely nothing to do, not even patrols, even with half of SHIELD’s agents out for holiday vacations. It had been tough going, as it always was when he fought Natasha, who despite being a foot shorter and almost one hundred pounds lighter than him, had the uncanny ability to zero in one his weak points everytime. She could read his every move before he’d even made it, slipping past his defenses with quick, precise strikes that brought him to his knees.

He’d twisted away from one of those strikes- incidentally, a knee aimed at his crotch that he was very thankful he’d been able to avoid, Natasha never did believe in fighting fair- and her booted foot had landed squarely on the phone in his pocket, shattering the glass screen in a truly artful array. 

And sure, it was maybe just a tiny bit his fault for having his phone in his pocket in the first place, but still.

Natasha’s fault for sure.

Steve mourned the loss of his phone and the loss of the money that it would take him to replace the screen as he walked home that evening. It was dark and the streets were empty, the city still caught in the kind of freezing December weather that forced even the most hardy New Yorkers inside. It was snowing- the freezing, driving, wet kind of snow that made him curl his hands into his pockets and hunch in on himself, the bitter cold seeping through all his protective layers and settling down into his bones. Colored lights still twinkled merrily against the oppressive weather, tiny spots of brightness amid the damp; apparently no one had told them that Christmas was last week.

An exceptionally cold blast of wind buffeted Steve, making him huff in annoyance and tuck his face further into his scarf. It was hard to ignore how miserable the walk from SHIELD headquarters to his apartment was at this time of year without his phone to distract him. Sure, it still turned on and made calls, but it didn’t do anything _fun_. He couldn’t even see enough on the screen to pull up a little music to make the walk go faster, he thought as he fingered the headphones in his pocket. He’d have to get Natasha to-

Whatever it was he’d have to get her to do, he never did reason out. In the middle of his self-pity party, a sudden noise startled him. He snapped his head to the side, training immediately taking over as his eyes searched for the source of the sound while his hands automatically felt for the knives tucked into their holsters on his belt. He preferred to fight hand-to-hand when he could, loathe as he was to incur any serious injury in anybody- human or otherwise. Still, the presence of the weapons was a comfort, one he couldn’t pass up.

Quickly and methodically, Steve catalogued his immediate surroundings. He was on the street. It was late, empty, dark along this particular stretch of sidewalk, the burnt-out bulbs in the streetlights overhead creating great dark swathes on the landscape. Not a great part of town to be in. To his right was the road, but there were no cars in sight that could have made a noise. To his left was a dark storefront, graffiti-covered plywood over the busted-out windows and fading, peeling letters on the awning overhead. 

He watched it carefully for movement. Nothing. There was an alley up ahead, the entrance a dark, yawning gap between the buildings. Steve froze, strained to listen past the wind and the patter of ice around him, and- _there it was_.

He crept closer, stepping in close to the side of the abandoned shop, slipping further into the shadows that lined the street. As he got closer, the noise resolved itself into a faint groaning sound. Steve inhaled sharply. He knew that sound, that particular low, humming noise that came from deep in the chest, involuntary and raw. It was a sound he’d heard only from something in pain, and large amounts of it. Hell, he’d made that sound himself once or twice over the course of his career.

Mind made up, he rested one hand on the handle of a knife beneath his shirt and held the other up in front of him in the universal gesture of peace as he stepped around the corner. He was almost certain whoever he found here would be in no state to hurt him, but he had been wrong before, to disastrous effect. He knew there were thieves that wouldn’t be above faking injury to lure in an unsuspecting victim. It could even be- God, forbid- some type of creature. Natasha would bring him back to life just to murder him again if he got killed by a creature when he wasn’t even on duty.

The tension drained out of his shoulders when he finally set sight on the source of the noise- a man sat huddled on the dirty concrete, pressed into the slight shelter made by the brick wall and a haphazardly placed dumpster. Steve thanked the cold that his nose was too numb to properly smell it. His relief didn’t last long, however, once he took in the state of the man in front of him. 

There was a fine coating of snow over his body and hair, frost clinging to his eyebrows and lashes. Steve knelt in front of him to look closer, alarmed at the lack of movement in response to his arrival. The man, Steve realized suddenly, was beautiful. 

And also, possibly, dead.

It only took a second or two of shock before Steve’s very basic first-aid knowledge took over. He fumbled for one of the man’s hands, noting distantly the worn long-shirt and lack of gloves. His fingers were stiff, the tips tinged bluish-purple, even in the scant light of the alleyway. Steve wrapped two of his own fingers around the ice-cold wrist, trying to still the thrum of adrenaline running through him, making his heart hammer loudly in his ears, and felt for a pulse.

He felt the strange urge to laugh when he finally located it. It was a weak and thready thing, with too much time between beats for Steve’s liking, but it was there. He dropped the hand and brought his fingers to the side of his throat. His skin was cold to the touch, like marble, his lips the same alarming shade of blue.

Thinking quickly, thoughts racing like they were going to burst right out of his skull, Steve stripped out of his own heavy jacket, laying it across the man’s prone form. He fished his broken phone out from the pocket of his jeans. The screen was still shattered beyond repair and seeing anything on it was impossible, but Steve knew the simple motions to make an emergency call. He clicked the button on the side and slid his finger across the screen with one hand while the other rubbed at one of the man’s hands, trying to generate some warmth and friction. 

For a moment, he was sure he felt a twitch from the fingers in his, but it was gone in an instant and nothing followed. He almost cried in relief when a calm, female voice finally answered and asked him what his emergency was. Distantly, Steve wondered where the hell all his training had gone; he was supposed to be unflappable in the face of crisis. This reaction was… new, to say the least. He had seen people die before, had been the cause of it even, but something in him balked at the thought of it being this man. Dying of the cold in a dirty alley with no one but a stranger- it didn’t seem fair. 

“Yes,” Steve said, his voice shaky, “I found someone- a man. He’s freezing, hypothermia I think. In an alley near the corner of-“

A hand shot out, startling him so badly he almost lost his grip on the phone. He barely suppressed a yelp of surprise. Steve whipped his gaze quickly to the man’s face and his heart leapt into his throat. Looking back at the him were the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen. He felt dazed, lost for a second, before reality came crashing back in abruptly. His eyes were gorgeous, yes.

And very clearly not human.

Ice blue, so bright they seemed to burn with an other-worldly light. The color extended all the way out, no whites showing at all, the tones of it seeming to shift and dance in mesmerizing patterns. Steve had the sudden and startling thought that he could drown in those eyes, fall forever and never reach the bottom, suspended for eternity in ice. The pupil was a thin slit in the center, like a cat’s, shockingly black against the pale blue of the iris. 

Something dug into Steve’s wrist, a sharp and insistent bite of pain that demanded his attention, and he tore his eyes away from that inhuman gaze. The fingers gripping his wrist were tipped with wicked-looking, black claws that he was certain had not been there just a few seconds ago. Steve felt his own eyes widen in shock and felt the cold wind start to dry them out within seconds. 

Through the sudden fog in his mind, Steve became distantly aware of a sound in his ear. A woman. She was repeating something-

“Sir? Sir, are you still there?”

Steve struggled for an answer, but his tongue felt suddenly too big for his mouth, and his lips numb. He tripped over the syllables, barely aware that he wasn’t making any sense and was probably confusing the nice phone operator, but it didn’t seem to matter. 

_Why was it so hard to think?_

Those ice-blue eyes were still on him, staring at him with such intensity, like the man could set him ablaze with his gaze alone. But he wasn’t a man, was he? He was- he was-

Steve struggled again to find the answer, to make sense of what was happening, searching his mind like a swimmer struggling to the surface of a deep pool. He was riveted, glued to the spot, couldn’t have looked away even if he wanted, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay forever looking into those eyes, drown in them, melt away into a puddle and-

* * *

* * *

And then, without warning, the eyes fluttered shut and it was like a switch flipped off in Steve’s brain. Or maybe it flipped on. Like a sudden light in a dark room, Steve blinked hard against the sudden perceived shift in reality. It was like being doused in water. He suddenly realized how cold he was, the cramp in his legs from being crouched for so long, the bright pinpricks of pain that the claws- _claws_ \- had left on his wrist, and the tinny voice of the operator still drifting through his phone speakers. 

The man didn’t open his eyes again, and his hand had fallen from its grip around Steve’s wrist, all traces of claws vanished like they’d never been there at all, if not for the five little dots of blood encircling Steve’s wrist. 

Steve inhaled harshly, nearly coughing as the wintry air scraped his raw throat. It had been the eyes, he realized now, hypnotic and inhuman. He’d heard about this before, but had never come across it himself. It was a gaze meant to trap, to ensnare an unwitting victim, keep them frozen and helpless.

 _Dragon_.

Just thinking the word had him throwing his head side-to-side, as if the thought would summon more of them. But no, there was just this miserable creature, frozen and half-dead in a dingy alley in the middle of the city.

Everyone knew how dangerous dragons were, _everyone_. And god, in his line of work- he worked for SHIELD for christ’s sake, his entire career centered around keeping tabs on dangerous creatures, and yet-

 _And yet_ -

Steve couldn’t even have said later why he did it. He wasn’t even sure himself what his reasoning was. Maybe that the dragon- _dragon, jesus Christ, Rogers you idiot_ \- was clearly incapacitated. Suffering. He would most die without some kind of help. He didn’t look especially dangerous in this moment, Steve thought. He looked miserable.

Steve brought his phone up to his mouth, cutting off the woman as she questioned him about where he was and what was wrong. ( _Everything_ ), “I’m sorry ma’am. Just a mistake. Sorry to waste your time.”  
He hung up before she had the chance to reply.

* * *

Hauling the dragon back to Steve’s cramped apartment and up three flights of stairs didn’t turn out nearly as difficult as Steve had thought it would be. For all that the dragon was tall, long-limbed and muscular, he was surprisingly light. When Steve maneuvered the unconscious body onto his couch and finally got his first real glimpse of the dragon in proper light, he noticed things that had escaped his notice before. 

His cheeks were gaunt, cheekbones standing out in stark relief against pale skin and the long sweep of his eyelashes. His hair was dark and long, laying lank and greasy against his scalp. There were more than a few days worth of stubble on his cheeks and his clothes, which appeared to be of a decent quality, had the dingy, overstretched look of fabric that had gone too long in between washings.

Steve also noted, with a slight wrinkle of his nose, that he definitely smelled like he’d been living rough for awhile. He wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten anything. Days, at least, judging by the hollowness in his cheeks.

The snow and ice that had accumulated on him like a second skin melted rapidly in the heated air of Steve’s apartment, leaving the dragon soaked and shivering in his sleep. Tiny tremors wracked his body as Steve watched, and his brow furrowed, even in sleep.

 _Dragons don’t like the cold_. 

The sudden thought had Steve pursing his lips in consternation. What the hell was a dragon doing this far north and this close to SHIELD headquarters? A question for another time, for sure. Steve resolutely refused to think any more about what he was doing as he dug hurriedly through his dresser for an old pair of sweatpants and a sweater that looked like they might fit the _goddamn dragon_ in his living room. He could hear Natasha loudly in his head, telling him what an idiot he was. And Sam, telling him to really think through things before jumping off the deep end.

He ignored them with what Natasha would called mind-numbingly stupid bullheadedness. He preferred the word determination. He was helping someone out, that was all. Just a person- _dragon_ \- who needed his help. He would dare anyone else to say they’d do differently in his situation. (They almost undoubtedly would.)

Steve faced a whole new problem when he returned to the living room, clothes bundled in his arms. He eyed the body dripping melted snow on his couch. He hadn’t regained consciousness the entire trek to Steve’s apartment, despite the numerous and probably unpleasant near-drops Steve had subjected him to. The chances of him waking up to put on clean, dry clothes were slim to none. 

He wrestled briefly with the innate wrongness, the desire to protect another’s privacy, but in the end there was no way Steve could leave him in his wet, dirty clothes. He compromised by trying to be as clinical as possible about the whole thing, thinking back to childhood illnesses and his mother’s soft hands helping him strip out of sweat-soaked pajamas during the worst of his fevers. 

With that mindset, he worked quickly and efficiently, stripping the man out of his jeans and underwear, shimmying the sweatpants up and over his hips while studiously ignoring anything else in the general vicinity. To change his shirt, Steve had to lever his whole upper body up off the couch and against his own torso so he could pull the sodden shirt up and over his head. His hands passed over the soft skin of his back, taut with muscle and bumpy, ridged shapes situated between his shoulderblades, midway down his back.

 _Wings_.

Although he had sworn to maintain a professional distance, Steve couldn’t help but be intrigued and his curiosity swiftly got the better of him. He’d never seen a dragon in real life before and didn’t think he’d ever get the chance again, living as far north as he did, where the winter brought snow and freezing temperatures for several months out of the year. 

He shifted the dragon to the side, taking more of the weight of his slack upper body against him, and peered at his back, feeling equal parts wondering and guilty. The wing nestled below his right shoulderblade was smaller than he’d expected, drawn up tight against his back, so compact that it could be easily hidden under a shirt. That didn’t match with what he’d learned about the massive wingspan reported by people who’d come up against dragons and survived, but he couldn’t argue with what was in front of him.

The skin was a beautiful, shimmery silver, translucent where it stretched over delicate-looking ridges of bone. He couldn’t see much of the size and shape in it’s current folded state and found himself strangely disappointed. He reached out, unable to stop himself, and ran a hesitant finger over the iridescent skin. He was surprised to find it soft and supple, like well-worn leather that’d been worn to softness over the years. 

The bone, as he passed his finger over it, seemed incongruously strong for all that it looked like the delicate bones of a bird. Steve longed to see what the wing would look like spread wide in flight. He knew it wasn’t a thought he should be having, but there it was all the same. 

Steve shifted slightly to rearrange the weight resting against him. It was then that he caught sight of the left wing and felt his stomach drop to his feet. Where on the right sat a healthy wing, a beautiful sculpture of bone and sinew and muscle, on the left sat devastation. Something had torn the wing completely away on that side, and the stump sat there, like the twisted reflection of a funhouse mirror.

The sheer brutality of the wound made Steve swallow bile. There were scars, red and puckered, crisscrossing the area with the look of a wound only very recently healed. Steve drew back without meaning to, suppressing a shudder at the sight, at the thought that anyone, dangerous creature or not, could undergo such trauma. He wasn’t an expert by any means, but as he stared he couldn’t help the creeping realization that it looked-

It looked deliberate. 

As he looked, the scars shaped themselves into a story, telling the tale of brutal, merciless and precise knifework. Everything in Steve balked at the idea. As quickly as he could, he pulled the dry shirt over his arms and torso and laid him back against the cushions and tugging a blanket off the back of the couch to settle over him. He brushed his fingers against the velvet-soft skin of his neck, reluctant to end the close contact even thought he knew he should, and was pleased to note that he was already warmer, his pulse stronger and steadier than it had been in the alley.

Steve sighed and folded himself into an armchair, resting his face in his hands and wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

* * *

Steve jerked awake up with the hair-raising feeling of eyes on him. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep at all, and he scolded himself internally for the lack of vigilance in an unknown situation. The agent in him was appalled.

Eventually, he realized that his new houseguest was awake and staring at him from beneath the dark curtain of his hair, eyes wary and calculating. He hadn’t moved from the couch and most of his body was still hidden by the blanket, but Steve could see the imperceptible changes, the tensing of muscles that indicated the readiness to fight at any second. He didn’t know why the dragon hadn’t already attacked. Humans and dragons notoriously did not get along; he spared another thought for how stupid it had been to bring one back to his apartment, alone. 

A long moment passed where they both stared at each other, sizing each other up, silent and waiting for the other to speak first. Finally, Steve couldn’t stand the silence any longer, curiosity and caution warring in him along with several burning questions.

“Hello,” he said hesitantly, then winced at how unsure he sounded. 

Or maybe that was a good thing. Steve didn’t know how to handle this conversation. He went to stand up and quickly aborted the motion when he saw the dragon tense even further, eyes narrowing in on Steve like he was assessing a threat. Steve sat back down heavily. 

_Okay then, no need to make him nervous_. 

He hoped his seated position and unthreatening body language would serve to ease at least some of tension in the room. 

It did not.

“My name is Steve Rogers,” he spoke calmly and clearly, like he was talking to a wild animal. “I found you passed out when I walking home earlier. You’re in my apartment. You remember any of that?”

No answer. Steve noted that now his eyes were slate-gray and utterly normal looking. It was no wonder dragons had such an easy time blending in and evading capture.

Steve changed tack. “What’s your name?”

A long silence followed in which Steve tried to impart safety with his eyes and the dragon scowled back him, clearly not impressed. Then suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, he sighed and Steve saw some of the tension drain out of him as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. His dark hair was tangled and sleep-mussed and the look was so incongruous with what Steve had heard about the danger of dragons all his life that for a moment he almost had to choke back laughter. Then he spoke and Steve forgot his urge to laugh instantly.

“Bucky,” the dragon said, and then broke into a hacking cough. It sounded deep and wet and Steve winced a little; the ghost of a long-forgotten feeling passing through him, of the clawing panic of drowning in your own lungs and the ache of an overworked diaphragm.

“Bucky,” he repeated, when he was finally able to reign in his coughing. His voice was deep, but raw and raspy, like he hadn’t had occasion to use it in too long. “Why?”

Steve frowned, trying to understand the question. “Why what?”

The dragon- _Bucky_ \- shot him a look, that was equal parts scathing and annoyed. But instead of clarifying, he said, “You know what I am.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Steve said. 

“Then why did you help me?”

Steve paused and considered as a long silence stretched between them. The room felt suddenly smaller, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Snow and ice still beat against the window with the same oppressive intensity of Bucky’s slate-grey eyes. Part of him longed to go with the easy answer, some bland polite platitude- _it was the right thing to do_ \- but that wasn’t correct, was it? In fact, it was the exact opposite of what he should have done, what anyone else probably would have done.

Bringing a dragon home with him, like a stray dog he had found on the road somewhere. It was laughable really, how stupid it was. Then again, for all that people told him he was smart and good and brave, no one had ever accused him of having a lick of common sense.

But, Steve figured, he wasn’t dead yet. So maybe that was something.

He finally spoke, just as the tension in the room approached a breaking point. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

And then something unexpected- Bucky cracked a smile. It was a small, twisted little thing, more like a scowl than anything else, but it was there. Steve felt a strange sense of triumph.

“You know I could kill you, right?” The smile dropped off of Bucky’s face as he stretched his hand out in front of him. He gazed contemplatively at the black, razor sharp claws that were now tipping his fingers. Steve hadn’t even seen when he’d extended them.

Steve schooled expression, showing neither fear nor discomfort at the sight. “I’m pretty tough to kill. Besides,” he said, “I didn’t turn you in.”

“I can’t decide if you’re brave or just an idiot.” Bucky sighed and flexed his hand, claws retracting back into the skin. 

Steve huffed in amusement.

“Well, which is it?” Bucky asked, looking at Steve with raised eyebrows.

“Probably both.”

They stared at one another for a long moment, and then suddenly Bucky rolled his eyes, falling backward onto the couch cushions. The air of tension in the room dissipated completely. “I’ll never understand humans. You’re all so stupid and so _bad_ at self-preservation.”

“Yeah, well. I guess we’re just funny like that,” Steve said with a shrug.

“You especially?”

Steve smiled wide. “Yeah. Me especially.”

He opened his mouth to speak again, when a low, gurgling sound filled the room. Steve stared at Bucky. “Was that-“

“It’s been a while,” Bucky interrupted, wrapping an arm around his growling stomach. “I haven’t exactly had a steady supply of food.” His eyes twitched minutely in the direction of his wing-stump.

This, Steve could handle. An easy problem, something with a concrete solution. Practically child’s play compared to the stress of the last few hours. 

“No problem,” he said, jumping up from the chair with renewed enthusiasm. “What do you- _oh_.” He took a step backward without thinking. “Um, do you, I mean-“

Bucky wrapped his arm tighter around himself and looked down at the ground. It was the most unsure of himself Steve had seen him so far. “I don’t eat people,” he muttered.

“You don’t?” 

God, he sounded like an idiot.

“Just animals,” Bucky replied, eyes still fixed on the floor.

“Oh. I thought-“

“Yeah, well, we’re not all the same, _Steve_ ,” Bucky snapped at him, and now he was back to looking at Steve with a cold glint in his eye. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Steve held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I assumed-“

“Yeah, well, I figure you’re pretty different from other humans, since you didn’t run screaming, so how ‘bout you do me a favor, and give me the same benefit of the doubt.”

“Okay,” Steve said calmly, “I can do that. 

Bucky scowled, but seemed to accept the apology.

“So,” he tried again, “is there anything else you can eat? I don’t exactly have an abundance of, um, animals in my apartment.” Also, Steve thought privately, he had no desire to watch anything eat a defenseless animal, even in the name of self-preservation. 

“Meat, “Bucky answered. “Raw, if you have it.”

Steve excused himself into the kitchen and opened the fridge. For just a minute, he leaned heavily against it, the cold air doing wonders to combat the fading heat of adrenaline still under his skin. No big deal, right? He was just getting food ( _raw meat_ ) for his guest ( _a freaking dragon_ ). _Perfectly normal. Everything’s fine here. No cause for concern_.

He was unable to stifle the hysterical laugh that bubbled up out of him as Natasha’s extremely disapproving face flashed through his mind. That look that she saved for him when she thought he was being a very special brand of patented Steve Rogers stupid. He was a SHIELD agent. He literally spent his days keeping people safe from dangerous creatures. What he was doing went against all his training, his every instinct. 

Steve grabbed a package of ground beef that he had been planning to use tonight and ripped the plastic off a little more forcefully than was necessary, pushing all thoughts of SHIELD to the back of his mind for the moment. 

When he returned, Steve just barely managed to yank his hand back as Bucky grabbed eagerly for the package of meat. Again, he felt that twinge of sympathy. He had been poor growing up, but his mother had made sure that he was never hungry. He didn’t envy anyone that feeling.

All the same, he turned his head as Bucky dug his fingers into the raw meat. He wouldn’t begrudge the guy the meal, but he also had no desire to watch it being eaten.

Bucky’s eyes were slipping closed before he had even finished the last bit of his food, the empty packaging slipping from his fingers. It had been less than an hour since he’d woken, but even that small conversation seemed to have taken all his energy. He also seemed to have decided that Steve wasn’t a threat for now, if he was comfortable enough to go to sleep here. Steve would take that as a win.

He watched as Bucky’s breathing quickly evened out and the lines of face smoothed, before he stood up and headed for his own bed, adjusting the blanket over Bucky as he went. Whatever else was going to happen, he’d face it in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

It took a full five minutes of staring at Bucky, still sleeping peacefully on his couch, for Steve to conclude that maybe, _just maybe_ , he had made a few rash decisions last night. He was just starting to well and truly work himself up into what was sure to be a rather impressive panic attack about the whole thing, when Bucky snorted loudly in his sleep.

It was a ridiculous sound; it was also so, so very _human_ that Steve immediately felt the panic quelling up inside him subside. He could do this. They’d talked last night and neither of them had tried to kill the other. Hell, at the end, Bucky had even seemed amused with him. It’d be fine, it really would.

Steve let that become the mantra that repeated in his head over and over again, as he went about his normal morning routine. He showered and brushed his teeth and scarfed down two barely-burnt pieces of toast, all the while listening for the telltale sounds of Bucky stirring from the living room. He didn’t want to wake him up; after the shape Steve had found him in, he needed all the rest he could get. But he also didn’t want to leave without talking to him. He had no doubt Bucky would bolt the second he was able to. Regardless of the uneasy truce between them the previous night, he still had absolutely zero reason to trust that Steve intended him no harm.

So Steve stalled for as long as he could, straightening his already spotless bedroom and wiping down the kitchen counter, all the while keeping an eye on the clock. Eventually, he had to leave. He was already running later then normal, but if he waited around any longer, he ran the risk of edging straight into the impressively late category.

He took a moment to stare at Bucky again. It was nice to have the opportunity to really look at him, without that unsettling gaze turned back on him. Bucky looked young in his sleep, the youthful beauty of his face completely at odds with the cynical, tired attitude he had when awake. More than anything, Steve burned with the desire to know more about him: why was he here, what was doing in New York in the middle of winter, and most importantly, what the hell had happened to him?

Steve sighed as he turned away and fished a notepad and pen out of a nearby drawer. He’d probably never know, and that truth burned inside him with a ferocity that surprised him. He had no doubt in his mind, given how he had acted the night before, that Bucky would be long gone by the time Steve got back from work. He resigned himself to that fact as he dashed off a quick note to leave on the coffee table, where hopefully Bucky would see it when he finally awoke.

_Had to go to work. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Please lock the door if you leave._

_-SR_

He hesitated, pen hovering over the paper, before he gave in to the impulse and added his phone number. Did Bucky even have a phone? Steve had no clue, but at least this way if he did he’d be able to get in touch with Steve if he needed anything. He hated the thought of Bucky back on the streets, alone and vulnerable without anyone to help him. He chuckled to himself absentmindedly as he locked the apartment door behind him. Was there any way a dragon would ever be considered vulnerable? Before last night, Steve would have said no. 

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

* * *

He ended up being almost forty-five minutes late to work. Steve, on the whole, was generally not very punctual anyway, but he had to admit even for him this was pretty bad.

After hurriedly stripping out of his civilian clothes and donning his uniform- black tac pants with a matching black top that sported minimal body armor- he pulled out his weapons- two knives and a Glock,and began his daily inspection. He was halfway through reassembling his gun when an excited voice rang out, breaking the quiet of the locker room. 

“Steve! My man, you just made me fifty bucks. You are officially my favorite person today.”

Steve shot a confused glimpse at Sam as he strode across the room to where Steve sat, throwing himself ungracefully down on the bench and clapping him on the shoulder in greeting. His hands still cleaning his gun on autopilot, Steve looked up at him in confusion.

“What’d I do?”

Natasha seemingly materialized in front of him, arms crossed and giving Steve her best disappointed glare. It was unsettling, the way she could move around so inconspicuously, but it was part of what made her such a good agent, and after years of friendship Steve had gotten to used to her sudden appearances. Mostly.

“By cheating,” she said, switching to staring Sam down.

Sam made an offended noise. “I didn’t cheat,” he told her, and then turning to Steve, “When you didn’t show up to spar this morning, I had to fill in for you. Natasha said you were sick, I said you were late. So I win, fair and square.”

“Mhmhimm.” Natasha just pursed her lips at Sam, but it was clear from the slight upturn at the corner of her mouth that it mostly for show.

“Well, for your information,” Steve said, reassembling the gun with ease and slipping it into his side holster, before moving on to inspecting his knives. “I had a long night yesterday, and then today I overslept.”

He immediately felt a little guilty, lying to his friends like that, but everything in him screamed to keep Bucky a secret. It would be safer for Bucky, for one, not to mention if anyone at SHIELD found out he was harboring a dragon, he’d likely lose his job. At the very least, he’d face a suspension. He trusted completely that his friends would at least hear him out first, but better safe than sorry. And besides, it sent a little thrill through him every time he thought about Bucky; it was exciting, knowing he was the only one who knew. It was like having Bucky all to himself.

“How could you possibly have had a long night, Rogers?” Sam asked, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “You’re the only dude I know that goes to bed before the sun goes down.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Steve grumbled, tucking his knives into their holders. He shook off Sam’s arm and stood, stretching out the muscles in his neck. Too much tension, most of it probably from last night, had made it stiff and sore. 

“You know I’m only joking,” Sam said, standing as well.

“Still,” Natasha said, arms now uncrossed, but face still sporting that vaguely disappointed look. “Sam’s got a point. When was the last time you went out Steve?”

Steve racked his memory, scratching at the back of his neck. “Um, I think- oh! Clint’s birthday!”

Sam shot him an exasperated look. “That was in October, Steve.”

Oh. Well, Steve could admit that he had a bad habit of letting his work consume his life, but now that he thought about it, overtime every week for the past few months, might have been overkill.

“Come out with us after work,” said Natasha. 

“Uh, I don’t think I can today-“ Steve started to say before Sam cut him off. 

“Come on, man, get out of the house. Have some fun or something. We’re going to that bar, the one with the really good burgers. I _know_ you liked that place.

“I really can’t tonight.” 

Steve felt a small twinge of guilt at blowing them off like that, but how could he explain that he was keeping a dragon in his apartment? Natasha would just as soon shoot Bucky as speak to him and Sam… Well, he wasn’t sure how Sam would react to Steve harboring one of the most dangerous creatures in the world in his tiny one-bedroom apartment, but he could almost guarantee it would be filled with patented Sam Wilson ‘ _why are you like this_ ’ glares. 

“Next time, I promise,” he said, and hoped that the look he gave them seemed genuine even as he lied through his teeth. 

Sam shook his head in mock exasperation and Steve knew he was good. Natasha on the other hand, fixed Steve with an inscrutable look. He could barely meet her eyes, and his spine tingled with the unpleasant certainty that she could see right through him.

“Fine,” she said, “but you’re buying.”

“Deal.” Steve smiled.

They exited the locker room, Sam and Natasha ribbing each other and Steve laughing heartily at the resulting banter, and for a second Steve forgot his entire world had been turned upside down in the last day and a half. Then they turned a corner and ran straight into Nick Fury.

Immediately Steve began to sweat. Fury turned his one eye on him and Steve somehow had the distinct impression that Fury could see straight through Steve all the way to the illegal creature currently drooling onto Steve’s couch cushions. Fury’s voice cut through his daze.

“Rogers, I’ve been looking for you. Come to my office. I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”

Fury turned on his heel and strode off in the direction of the elevators before Steve could muster up any sort of response. He turned to Natasha and Sam quizzically; Sam gave an equally confused shrug and raise of his eyebrows. Natasha’s expression was impassive, but the slight furrow between her eyebrows betrayed her confusion.

“What’s up with that?” asked Sam, with a raise of his eyebrows.

Steve offered a shrug of his own. “No clue. Nat, you know anything?”

Natasha shook her head silently, and Steve sighed, turning towards the elevators himself. “No use guessing, I suppose. I’ll see you guys later, yeah?”

They said their goodbyes and his friends left to go about their days. Steve stepped inside the elevator and pushed the button that would take him to Fury’s office.

Steve stepped off the elevator and walked purposefully down the hallway towards Fury’s office. The plush, cream-colored carpet made his tread almost silent, and the lighting- much softer than the fluorescents of the lower floors- bounced warmly off the dark gray walls. It was expensive and opulent and so, so very _not_ Nick Fury. Steve had no doubt that the design of this floor was all Pierce. Fury was all rough edges and brutal professionalism, the kind of man who would gladly conduct his business from a broom closet if it got the job done. Pierce was the opposite; he had a taste for the finer things and the money to back it up. Steve supposed that was why they made such good partners in running SHIELD; they balanced each other like nobody else could. 

When Steve entered the office, Fury didn’t even look up from his computer. Steve stood in front of his desk, hands folded together in front of him, feeling very much like a schoolchild that had been sent to the principal. 

“Sir, if this is about my being late again, it’s-“

Finally, Fury looked up from his computer. His one eye focused on Steve with a startling intensity. “You’re one of my best agents, Rogers. You keep working the way you have been, and you can show up at noon in your pajamas for all I care.”

Steve nodded and waited for Fury to continue. If he wasn’t here to get reprimanded, then it must be for some other reason, and Fury wasn’t exactly known for beating around the bush.

“Listen. We’re a little short-staffed right now. I need you to take over a few of Rumlow’s routes. Normally, I’d ask Hill, but she’s still out on injury.”

“Rumlow get hurt?”

“Pierce pulled him for his new task force,” Fury said. The tight line of his lips was enough to tell Steve exactly how Fury felt about _that_. “I’m splitting his duties between a few of the agents and I think you’re one of the ones I can rely on not to buckle under the extra pressure.”

“Not a problem, sir,” Steve said. He was curious about the task force, but he also knew asking would be fruitless. Ever since Pierce had started pulling in agents a few months ago, the whole thing had been top-level secret. No way in hell Fury would tell him a damn thing, regardless of how he clearly felt about Pierce’s use of resources. 

“Good,” said Fury, “Oh, and Rumlow reported a kishi on his normal Thursday route, so make sure you watch for it,” and turned back to his work. 

Steve knew a dismissal when he saw one. He had almost made it to the door when a thought struck him, and before he could think too much about what he was saying, he blurted out, “What do you know about dragons, sir?”

With Fury’s full attention on him again, Steve suppressed the urge to cringe. He had always had a bad habit of sticking his foot in his mouth and it definitely hadn’t mellowed with age. 

“I know that you should be thankful we’ll never see one this far north. There’s a reason they’re on SHIELD’s shoot-on-sight list. I wouldn’t want to tangle with an angry dragon even if I had ten agents behind me.” Fury narrowed his eye. “Why are you asking about dragons, Rogers?”

Steve swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. He really, really shouldn’t have said anything. “Just curious, sir. I was doing some reading about them and just –”

“The only thing else I have to say about dragons is that I damn sure didn’t lose my eye fighting one to let them invade New York. Now go do your job, agent, and you see any dragons, you come to me.”

Steve nodded and ducked out of the room quickly. As he walked quickly towards the elevator he couldn’t quell the intense feeling of panic rising in his gut.

* * *

Steve practically ran back to his apartment after work, doing his best to convince himself along the way that everything would be okay. If Bucky was gone, that was fine, nothing less than what he had expected after all. He repeated the mantra over and over again in his head. _It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s all fine_.

All the same, he made amazingly good time back home; his younger self would have been in awe. Steve’s older self was far more preoccupied by what he was going to find when he opened the front door. He had to stop with a hand on the doorknob and make a conscious effort to control his breathing. This was ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous. _He probably didn’t stay_ , Steve thought to himself, pushing open the door, _it’s not like he knows me from Adam. Besides, he_ -

He’s still there. On Steve’s couch, like some sort of ridiculously attractive fever-dream, if it weren’t for the fact that this particular fever-dream is badly in need of a shave and a shower. 

Steve slowly realized that he was still standing frozen in the doorway, staring at Bucky like he was some kind of idiot. “Hi,” he said, and immediately cringed at the awkwardness of it. 

“….hi,” Bucky replied. 

His face was perfectly blank, eyes wary. Either Steve was worse at reading people than he thought, or Bucky was just extraordinally good at masking his emotions. Probably a bit of both. And he was still on the couch, though now he was seated cross-legged on the middle cushion

“You just gonna stand there all night?”

“Oh, right.” Steve shook his head, like he could clear away everything with a physical action. He stepped hesitantly closer to the couch and Bucky tensed; it was minute, a barely-there tensing of his shoulders and a tightening around his eyes, but to Steve’s combat-trained eyes it was easy to read. He aborted his movement just as quickly, and went into the kitchen instead. 

He busied himself gulping down a glass of water. He refilled it and another quickly and lingered by the sink a moment longer. When he thought he had probably given Bucky enough time to relax again, he returned to the living room. 

This time when Steve approached, glass held out like a peace offering, the line of Bucky’s shoulders didn’t change. He breathed a small sigh of relief and cracked a small smile. Bucky didn’t smile back. _Ah well_ , he thought, _one step at a time_. 

Bucky’s fingers brushed Steve’s as he took the glass. Steve almost yanked his fingers back, years of trigger discipline the only thing that stayed his hand. Bucky’s skin was _hot_. Almost burning. If he had been human, Steve would have taken him to the hospital in an instant. 

But he wasn’t. Was this normal? Bucky didn’t seem concerned, so Steve resolved to ask him about it just as soon as they had discussed more important things. 

Steve settled into the armchair and felt a sense of déjà vu as he nervously shifted his glass from hand to hand. He hoped that this time they’d get more figured out than they had the night before. But for that, they’d have to _start_ talking in the first place. Bucky, though he was watching Steve carefully, didn’t look likely to start the conversation. Well then, if Steve had to do it, so be it. It’s not like he’d ever had trouble talking before. He shouldn’t have a problem, if only Bucky didn’t leave him so tongue-tied and clumsy.

“So…” 

_Great start, Rogers_.

“So,” Bucky repeated back at him, tone deadpan and unreadable. 

“Cut me a break here, okay? I’ve never met a, you know-“ Steve made a vague gesture with his hand, “-before.”

Bucky’s raised eyebrow said more than words ever could. “A dragon?”

“Yeah.”

“You know you can say it, right? It’s not a dirty word. Although I guess to most humans it might as well be.”

“That’s not what I-,” Steve cut himself off. Not the time to argue semantics. The problem was he didn’t know what to ask. He didn’t even know where to begin. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked instead. 

“You brought me here, remember?” Bucky raised an eyebrow at him and Steve suppressed the massive urge to sigh at him.

“I meant, New York. What are you doing in New York. It’s not exactly common for …dragons to be this far up north.”

Bucky looked at him, appraising. “Not really your business.”

“You’re in my apartment. You spent the night on my couch, and you’re wearing my clothes and if I hadn’t found you, you’d probably be dead,” Steve said, deadpan. “I feel like that should earn me at least a little explanation.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky growled out. Steve could practically see his hackles raising as his eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t owe you shit.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded, annoyance creeping into his voice. “You don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine. But you’re not staying here then. Door’s right over there.” Steve gestured over his shoulder with a flat look. “Keep the clothes, they’re old anyway.”

“I-,” Bucky opened his mouth to speak and stopped himself. His indecision went on for a tense second, his stubbornness clearly waning in the face of being kicked back out into the cold. Finally, common sense seemed to win out and he hung his head as he mumbled, “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“You can stay here,” Steve said in a gentler tone. Bucky looked small and vulnerable, even more than he had freezing to death on Steve’s couch. It tugged at something deep in Steve’s gut. “You can stay here,” he repeated, “I just need to know a little bit more about you before I’m comfortable sleeping under the same roof.”

“You slept fine last night,” Bucky pointed out mulishly. A bit of fire creeped back into his voice and it warmed Steve’s heart to hear it. 

“You weren’t exactly in any shape to be a threat last night.”

Bucky gave him a pained smile. “Touche. And… thanks. For helping me. I know you didn’t have to do that. Most people probably would have turned me into SHIELD or the police.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve smiled back at him, wincing internally at the mention of SHIELD. That was going to be a _fun_ conversation. “I’ve never been great at making life choices. Why start now, right?”

Steve took a sip of his water, settling more comfortably back in his chair. He was in this now, committed. Fury’s words from that morning ran through his head, but Steve shook them off. Bucky didn’t _feel_ dangerous. For the life of him, Steve wouldn’t be able to explain how he knew, he just _knew_ : Bucky wasn’t dangerous. At least not to him.

“So,” Steve prompted after a lengthy silence.

“You really don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

“Never been very good at it,” Steve said, lips twitching upwards into a smile.

“Fine.” Bucky took a deep breath, rolling his nearly empty glass from hand to hand. He looked like he was picking his words carefully. “I’m here to kill someone.”

Steve jerked back in surprise. He hadn’t meant to show it at all, but that answer had taken him aback so much that he couldn’t have schooled his expression if he tried. A million different questions rushed through his brain, but the one that came out of his mouth was:

“I thought you said you didn’t kill people?”

“I’m making an exception.” Bucky’s face was hard, and he suddenly looked every inch the threat that people claimed him to be. The old phrase came to Steve’s mind unbidden: _if looks could kill_. And Bucky certainly looked ready to kill. In fact, he looked ready to rip someone apart with his bare hands. Steve remembered very vividly the image of those black claws flashing in the air; he had no doubt that they were exactly as deadly as they looked. 

For once in his life, Steve was at a total loss for what to say. “I,” he started, “you-“ Finally he settled on simply, “Who?”

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “I told you what I’m doing in New York. I answered your question. But I’m not answering that.”

Steve should kick Bucky out of his apartment, this instant. He should throw him out on the street and forget he had ever met him. He should- 

“But why?” Steve asked. He sounded stupid, he knew he did, but he couldn’t help it. He had been so sure that Bucky wasn’t a threat. So much for his instincts. “Why? I thought you didn’t-“

“He killed my family.” Bucky’s voice was so quiet that Steve almost missed over the sound of his own blood rushing through his head. His head was down, eyes fixed on the floor. “Murdered them.”

“Oh,” Steve said, “ _oh_. I’m- Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Bucky, I didn’t- I don’t-“

“I’m done talking about it,” Bucky looked up and any trace of vulnerability that had been there was gone. “You asked why. I told you. We’re done talking about it now. What happened to your face?”

Steve spotted the blatant attempt to change the conversation. His hand drifted absent-mindedly to the bruise he had completely forgotten about in his haste to get home to Bucky. It colored the upper part of his cheekbone purple and his cheekbone throbbed when he pressed a finger to it. His afternoon route had gotten a bit wilder than he expected, a chance encounter with a chimera that had been terrorizing a local bakery. Bucky was staring intently at him, and he looked desperate for Steve to pick up the new thread of conversation. 

Bucky. His family. _Oh god_.

“Work,” he said finally. Something wild and desperate flickered out of Bucky’s eyes, his relief at Steve’s willingness to drop it palpable. 

“You usually get shiners at work?” Bucky asked with a strained smile.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled, “unfortunately. Working for SHIELD isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”

“You work for SHIELD?” Bucky’s tone was suddenly sharp. He looked ready to bolt and Steve wanted to hit himself for his careless words.

“Hey, calm down. I’m not going to turn you in. I think I’ve made that pretty clear.”

“You work for SHIELD,” Bucky repeated. He was muttering to himself, half under his breath. Steve watched as he clenched and unclenched his hands, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. “This is perfect!”

“What?” The sudden change in Bucky’s demeanor took Steve aback. Whatever reaction he had been expecting, that wasn’t it.

“You can help me,” Bucky said, and smiled the first smile Steve had seen. His teeth were straight and even and his lips were shaped in a perfect cupid’s bow. It was very distracting. “The man I need to kill,” Bucky said, and that got Steve’s attention fast, “is Alexander Pierce. And you can help me get to him.”


	3. Chapter 3

Steve would’ve liked to say he talked the whole thing over with Bucky and dealt with his sudden revelation about Steve’s boss in a mature and professional manner. But if he said that, he’d be lying. 

Instead Steve did the exact opposite: he avoided the subject the same way a person might avoid an oncoming bus. 

Of course, what Steve didn’t know was that actively avoiding something that hard was _exhausting_. Especially when you lived in the same apartment as the person who keeps bringing it up. By the end of the week, Steve was completely spent. On a good day, just having to keep up with both his own duties at work and shouldering some of Rumlow’s would have tired him out, but add in Bucky and the constant low-grade stress that was always buzzing in the back of Steve’s mind, and he was about ready to collapse.

In fact that was all he was thinking about come Friday afternoon as he shoved his work boots inside his locker. _Bed_. God, that sounded good. He was going to go home, order in Chinese, change into his pajamas and stay face-down on his bed until Monday morning. He tacitly ignored the little part of his brain that kept trying to say _but what about Bucky_? Bucky could go fuck himself. That’s how tired Steve was. 

“Steve!”

Steve closed his locker and let his head bang into the solid metal as he stifled a groan. He should’ve been faster, maybe showered at home. Exhaustion turned into full blow despair as he felt Sam’s hand clap down on his shoulder. 

“Damn,” Sam whistled as Steve turned his head to glare at him, “usually that kind of look is reserved for Monday mornings. You okay, man?”

“Fine,” Steve answered, pulling himself upright with no small amount of effort. He immediately missed the support of the locker. “Just tired, y’know?”

“Do I ever,” Sam laughed. “Listen-“

Steve actually did groan this time. 

“ _Listen_ ,” Sam repeated forcefully, “we’re going out tonight and you are coming with us.”

“Sam-“

“No. No arguing. You’ve been holed up in your apartment for weeks. You’re coming.”

“I’d love to, I really would,” Steve argued weakly, “I’ve just got a lot going on right now.”

Sam was silent for a moment, gazing thoughtfully at Steve, who did his best to make his smile as genuinely as possible. 

“Need to talk about it?”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “It’s one of those things I need to figure out on my own. But thanks.”

Sam gave him a long appraising look. “I dare you to show me a problem that a burger and a good beer can’t fix.”

Steve sighed; he knew a lost cause when he saw one and even he wasn’t stubborn enough to fight back against Sam Wilson’s good intentions for long. “Fine, I’ll come out for a beer. _One_ beer, and that’s it, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.” Sam grinned and squeezed Steve’s shoulder before dropping his hand. “Five o’clock at the usual place.”

“See you there.”

* * *

When Steve got home, Bucky was sprawled sideways in the armchair, head against one armrest and feet dangling off the other. He had one of Steve’s books held about two inches from the tip of his nose and when Steve greeted him as he came into the apartment, Bucky just grunted in response. 

It was remarkable, really, how quickly they had settled into a pattern. It had only been a week and it was already downright… domestic. The whole thing made Steve’s stomach feel like it was doing flips in his abdomen. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed sharing his space with another person. After all, he’d been on his own since he was a teenager. Having Bucky at his apartment when he came home every day, going through Steve’s books and raiding Steve’s refrigerator and stealing Steve’s most comfortable sweatpants; it all made him strangely, thrillingly happy. 

It was almost perfect, if he could ignore the fact that Bucky wasn’t human and most definitely wasn’t here to be with Steve. Steve was just a means to an end for Bucky and he knew it. He wasn’t stupid. But it was nice pretending while he could. The only problem was that pretending meant ignoring the ever-growing elephant in the room. They hadn’t talked much about Pierce or what Bucky’s plans were since that night when Bucky’s revelation about his family had knocked Steve on his ass. On the one hand, he had never liked Pierce, had always gotten the feeling of something off about him. But on the other hand, the accusation was a big one. 

Luckily, it seemed like he had some time to figure it out. Bucky had admitted, later, that there wasn’t much he could do about Pierce in his current state. He was still weak from his flirtation with freezing to death and- as he’d later revealed to Steve- the stump of his wing was still healing and tender. He hadn’t said what happened to the wing, and as much as Steve burned to know the truth, Steve hadn’t asked. 

So for now, Steve was doing what he did best: stubbornly ignoring the problem in the hopes that it would resolve itself. It was a bad plan. He could acknowledge that, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what to do instead. He half hoped that by the time Bucky got back into fighting shape he would have been able to think of something to talk him down. 

For now, Steve knocked the snow off his boots and kicked them off near the door, before making his way to stand in front of Bucky. 

“I’m going out,” he said.

“Have fun,” Bucky replied dryly, licking his finger and using it to turn a page.

“Come with me.”

“Will going get me any closer to ripping out Pierce’s throat?” Bucky craned his neck to look up at Steve, finally deigning to grace him with his full attention.

“Uh, no,” Steve said, frowning.

“Then I’m not interested,”

Steve sighed and dropped heavily onto the couch. He leaned his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes, his mind wonderfully still for just a moment. 

“Where are you going?”

He cracked open on eye. Bucky was still staring at the book, no indication that he’d even spoken. “Thought you weren’t interested?”

“I’m _not_ ,” Bucky ground out. The twitch in his jaw said something very different.

“It’ll be fun,” Steve reassured him, wincing internally as he realized he was now doing to Bucky exactly what Sam had done to him. But Sam, as usual, was right. They both needed a break from the apartment. At least Steve had work; Bucky had been here pretty much twenty-four seven for a week straight. He had to be going stir-crazy.

If he _was_ going crazy, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it, at least, as he eyed Steve suspiciously. “So where is it?”

“Just a bar. Pretty low-key. Good burgers though.” Bucky wrinkled his nose at the idea of cooked meat. “Well, I think they’re good,” Steve said defensively. “We don’t all eat our food so fresh.”

“Well excuse me, princess,” Bucky retorted. A week ago, Steve would have questioned whether or not Bucky was truly angry, but by now he was able to identify the tone as just his baseline of steady annoyance with the world. 

“Seriously, come out with me. You can meet my friends. You’ll like them, they’re good people.”

Bucky let out an undignified snort. “People’s good will doesn’t tend to extend to things like me.”

Steve sighed; he didn’t have an answer for that. He knew Bucky was right, dead on in fact, especially if Natasha or Sam were to figure out exactly who Steve had invited to live with him. Steve’s phone buzzed in his pocket and, as if thinking about her had summoned it, he saw a message from Natasha.

Nat:  
 _Walk with me tonight?_

Steve considered. On the one hand, he and Nat had a standing agreement to accompany each other whenever they went somewhere as a group. Nat’s apartment was just down the street so it made sense for them to walk together. Not that he had any doubt either one of them could defend themselves if need be, but it did break up the monotony of a solo journey.

_Sure. Be there about 6._

Natasha replied a few seconds later with a thumbs up emoji and Steve tucked his phone back into his pocket and turned back to Bucky.

“Come on, just come out with me. You need to get out of the apartment. We can leave whenever you’ve had enough.”

“Fine,” Bucky sighed and dropped the book to chest. “I’ll have to borrow some real clothes though.”

* * *

It barely took any time at all for Steve to realize he had made a huge mistake.

“Don’t you have any shirts that fit normal?” Bucky whined as he tugged at the thin t-shirt. The dark blue fabric clung to his chest, the thin fabric doing nothing at all to conceal the tight muscles beneath. “I swear you bought this at a children’s store.”

“Sorry.” Steve ducked his head. He hoped he looked embarrassed by his inability to provide clothes that fit and not because of his inability to stop staring at Bucky’s chest. “I think there’s some looser stuff in the back of the closet. We can go get you some clothes of your own this weekend.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” Bucky said, voice muffled as he dug through Steve’s closet. Eventually he pulled out a shirt that had a looser fit. He tossed the rejected clothing aside and brushed past Steve to pull on his boots. 

Steve sighed quietly. Bucky was still so prickly; he was never quite sure what was going to set him off. It was like walking a minefield just to have a conversation some days. He was suddenly regretting pushing Bucky to meet his friends. What if they noticed something was off?

“There’s an extra jacket in the hall closet,” Steve said as he pulled his own shoes on. Bucky didn’t move, staying slouched against the front door, watching Steve disinterestedly. “No?”

“I’m a dragon, Steve. I don’t need a jacket.” Bucky said the word jacket like a it was a particularly offensive curse word. 

“Oh.”

It made sense now that Steve thought about it. Dragons were creatures of fire, though he had yet to see any sign of that from Bucky, thank goodness. He didn’t think he could deal with burning down his apartment building on top of everything else he was already dealing with. And he was always so warm. Steve had had to actually turn down the heat, something unheard of in the middle of a New York winter. But Bucky’s constant presence in the apartment was literally heating the place up. Something else occurred to him.

“Then how the hell did I save you from freezing to death, if you don’t even need a jacket in January in New York?”

Bucky flushed and Steve resisted the temptation to gape openly. It was a rare occurrence for Bucky to show any emotion besides mild irritation. “It wasn’t my best day,” he muttered.

Steve raised his eyebrows at him in question.

“Injured and sick and cold. Not a great combination. I’m not completely immune to the cold, just resistant.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. 

“I also just really hate wearing them,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

“Hmmm.”

“Shut up, Steve.”

Steve grinned and did exactly what Bucky asked. Despite a multitude of evidence to the contrary, he could keep his mouth shut when he wanted to. Mostly.

* * *

Natasha lived about halfway between Steve’s place and the bar, in an apartment building that had been renovated in recent years to be slick and modern. The sharp lines and exposed brick of the apartment reminded Steve a little bit of Natasha herself, all sharp edges and sleek style overlying just a hint of vulnerability.

Steve rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles and then stepped back to wait. Bucky seemed to be doing his to completely hide behind Steve, head ducked so his hair fell over his face and hands shoved in his pockets. 

“Calm down,” Steve said, “I swear Nat doesn’t bite.”

Bucky leveled him with an unimpressed look. “You try being part of one of the most hated species on the planet and see how you like meeting new people then.”

He was about to reply when the door swung open. Natasha was dressed simply, in tight jeans and a thin green t-shirt that complemented her eyes. She was holding the door with one hand while the other fiddled with her ear, attempting to fasten a small, sparkly stud. 

“One second,” she said as she glanced at Steve. He could see the exact moment that she noticed Bucky standing behind him. She had been turning to retreat back into her apartment when her eyes swept over him. She paused so minutely that most people might have missed it, but Steve had known Natasha for long enough to know when something caught her off guard. And yeah, maybe it wasn’t exactly normal for Steve to bring around new people, but he was still a little hurt by the implication that he couldn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, backing up a few steps and beckoning them into the apartment. Bucky came through the door reluctantly, like he expected to be attacked at any moment. Natasha held out her hand and smiled at him. “I’m Natasha.”

Bucky looked at her suspiciously before offering his own to shake. “Bucky.”

“I’m just running a little bit late today, I’ll be ready in a minute.” She directed this statement toward Steve who waved a hand at her. 

“Don’t worry about it. Lord knows I’ve kept you waiting enough times.”

She smiled and pecked Steve on the cheek before dashing off down the short hallway. Steve heard a drawer open and close again before she called out, “Can you do me a favor and feed Liho?”

“No problem,” he replied. 

Steve went to the kitchen where he knew from experience Natasha kept Liho’s food. Bucky trailed after him, a little like a big, scary duckling. 

“Liho is Natasha’s cat,” Steve explained as he scooped food into a dish. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky bristle. “Don’t worry, he’s a great cat. Just scratch behind his ears and he’ll love you forever.”

“Uh-huh.” Bucky looked far from convinced. 

Steve shook the bowl so the food rattled inside of it and watched a fluffy bundle of black fur streak through the kitchen. He set the bowl down on the tile and held out his hand to the cat. “See?” he told Bucky, reaching to scratch Liho behind the ears. “He’s a really-“

A loud, angry hiss filled the air and Steve withdrew his hand, startled into silence. Liho had stopped several paces away. He was arched up, fur ridged and tail fluffed, still emitting that hiss. 

And he was staring directly at Bucky.

As Steve watched in astonishment, Bucky scowled and slouched even further into himself. “That’s weird,” Steve said. He pulled himself up to his full height, backing subtly away from the angry animal. He had faced down worse during his time as a SHIELD agent, but then again, it wasn’t like he could take down Natasha’s cat. She’d probably take issue.

“I have no idea why he’s doing that,” Steve continued, “I’ve never seen him act like that before.”

“He must not like you.”

Natasha came up behind them. Steve jumped in surprise, and turned to look at her. It usually made Natasha smile, getting the jump on Steve. She wasn’t smiling now though. Instead, her gaze kept flicking between Liho, who had ceased hissing when she entered the room, but was still puffed up and indignant, and Bucky, who was attempting to retreat even further behind his hair. When Bucky dared a glance up at her, their eyes met and Natashsa frowned at him, eyes narrowed. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them until Steve nervously broke it.

“We should probably head out if we don’t wanna be late.”

Natasha stared at Bucky for one moment more, inscrutable, before she switched her gaze to Steve and smiled warmly. “Lead the way.” She offered her arm and Steve took it, laughing in relief and doing his best to shove the uncomfortable interaction to the back of his mind.

* * *

“So how did you two meet?”

“Hmm?” 

Steve pretended to cough, trying to buy himself some time. Beside him, Bucky scowled and took a swig of his beer. Sam was staring from across the table at Steve, muching on nachos while Natasha watched Bucky.

“You two,” Sam repeated, and while he didn’t roll his eyes, Steve could hear the exasperation in his voice, “where did you meet?”

Steve glanced over at Bucky, who stared into his drink like it held the secrets to the universe. Clearly he would get no help from there.

“On a walk,” Steve finally said, as he fervently wished for a meteor to crash into the building and kill him, if only it would end this topic of conversation. He hated lying to his friends.

“A walk?” 

“Yeah. I was walking home from work, and Bucky was… also walking.” Forget the meteor, Steve decided, a good old fashioned tidal wave sounded perfect just about now. 

Sam held up his hands in defeat. His fingertips glistened with grease from the nachos. “Forget it. I know a conversational landmine when I see it. Let’s get a few more drinks in you and I’m sure I’ll eventually pry the name of site you two met on out of you.”

“We didn’t-“ Steve started, feeling a blush creep up the back of his neck. “We’re not- we’re just friends.” He looked to Bucky, hoping for some kind of conformation, but- big surprise- Bucky was staring at the table and emitting all the friendly openness of a brick wall. 

Natasha ended up being the one to save him from his rambling, speaking up for the first time since they sat down. She’d been uncharacteristically silent since they left her apartment, which did nothing to alleviate Steve’s anxiety over this meeting.

“So Bucky,” she said his name like a challenge and Bucky finally stopped his in-depth examination of the table, “what do you do?”

“I’m between jobs,” Bucky answered coolly. 

“And where are you from?”

“All over.”

“Military brat?”

“Parents just liked moving, I guess.”

“What are you doing in New York.”

“Sight-seeing.”

“What have you seen so far?”

“Mostly Steve’s apartment and a whole lot of snow.”

Natasha’s questions were rapidfire, and each time Bucky answered, the little furrow between her eyebrows grew deeper. Steve felt dizzy just trying to keep up.

“Hey, Nat,” Sam said. He looked just as confused as Steve felt. “What’s with the third degree. Give the guy a break. He already puts up with Steve’s dumb ass, it’s not fair for the rest of us to be crazy too.”

Natasha managed a small smile that Steve noted didn’t reach her eyes. “Right, sorry, that was a little intense. I was just curious.“

“It’s fine,” Bucky muttered, while looking like it was very much _not fine_. 

He was spared from further awkwardness by the timely and rather chaotic entrance of Clint. “Sam! Nat!” he cried, pulling them each into a hug that involved a lot of arms and very little respect of personal space. “Cap!” Then it was Steve’s turn to get a hug. In the process, Clint’s elbow knocked into Steve’s head and he noted with amusement that Clint was wearing his undershirt inside out.

“Cap?”

It was the first time Bucky had voluntarily added to the conversation all night. Steve completely failed at hiding his pleased grin. 

“Captain Obvious,” Clint declared, clapping a hand onto Steve’s shoulder and making the beer in Steve’s hand slosh over the sides of the glass.

“More like Captain Oblivious,” Sam added.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s real cute.” Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Aw, you know we love you, Steve,” Clint said, slinging himself down into the empty chair on Natasha’s other side. “Making fun of you is how we show we care.”

“With friends like these,” Steve muttered, before resuming his normal speaking voice. “Clint, this is Bucky. He’s a new friend. Bucky, this is Clint.”

“He’s our resident disaster,” Sam added helpfully.

“And proud of it.” Clint grinned and held out a hand to Bucky. “Nice to meet you, Bu-“

As their hands touched, Clint faltered and his eyes widened. He stared at Bucky, confusion in his eyes. It lasted just long enough for Steve to start to panic before Clint shook himself and continued speaking, dropping Bucky’s hand.

“Sorry, I just- I’m kind of a mess, ignore me, please,” Clint said. He turned to Sam and launched into a story about the newest addition to the aviary at the zoo. Clint worked with the animals and Sam was a huge fan; they geeked out together whenever they had the opportunity. 

Steve took the break in conversation to glance over at Bucky. He was pale, almost as pale as the night Steve had met him, and his eyes were darting conspicuously between the table and the door. He was clearly weighing his options of a hasty exit.

Bucky was practically vibrating with the extent of his anxiety. Under the table, Steve inched his hand over to close over Bucky’s knee in what he hoped would be a comforting gesture. At the contact, Bucky jumped so badly he thumped the table and nearly toppled his drink.

Three pairs of curious eyes turned toward him simultaneously and Bucky flushed red. It was, Steve thought, unfairly adorable. “Sorry,” he muttered, “just… cold.”

Steve bit back his laughter at the absurdness of the statement. Even from a foot away, Bucky was radiating heat like a furnace. Steve almost wished he’d worn less layers as he felt a bead of sweat creep its way down his spine. 

“Yeah, man, I feel ya. I haven’t been warm in months. Gotta love those New York winters.” Steve could kiss Sam for pulling the attention back off of the clearly very uncomfortable Bucky. Sam Wilson is a goddamn saint, he decided. 

“So Bucky,” Clint said. He leaned forward to hear better over the noise of the bar, and Bucky shrank away from him, pressing his back into the solid wood of the chair. “What’s your deal? What do you do?”

Steve opened his mouth to answer, repressing the strong urge to groan. He loves his friends, he does, but right now he wished they could be just slightly… _less_. Before he could divert Clint’s question though, Natasha did it for him.

“He’s between jobs.” There was a strange tone of aggression in her voice that Steve had only heard a few times before, and she was staring at Bucky as if in challenge. This time, Sam didn’t even try to hide the baffled look he sent Natasha’s way.

Clint, apparently not picking up the very unpleasant vibes at the table, bulldozed on ahead as if nothing had happened. “You looking? I work at the zoo. I work with the birds, but there’s always a ton of job openings that don’t require any specific skills. I could put in a good word for you.”

Bucky smiled at him, just a slight uptick of his lips, but it’s more than Steve had seen in a few hours. Clint has that effect on a lot of people. “Thanks, but I’m good,” Bucky said. “I’ve got a project I’m working on that takes up all of my attention.”

“Sure thing. If you change your mind, you let me know though, okay?”

Bucky nodded and Clint settled back into his seat. Mercifully, Sam changed the subject to the newest episode of some show that Steve didn’t watch. He heaved a small sigh of relief that almost turned into a yelp before he managed to contain it. Under the table, Bucky was squeezing his hand. It took all of Steve’s willpower not to look down and confirm that it was really happening and he wasn’t imagining it. His eyes flicked to the side, trying to catch Bucky’s attention, but he was gazing staunchly ahead, listening to the ongoing conversation. Steve stared a moment longer before another squeeze of his hand jolted him back to attention.

Steve took a handful of nachos and chewed on them slowly, trying to appear relaxed and engaged in the conversation taking place across from him. His mind, however, sped down different paths, going a mile a minute. Why had Bucky taken his hand when he seemed so surprised the first time? He wasn’t letting go; if anything, the pressure of Bucky’s hand on his had only increased, though not unpleasantly so. Was he upset about something? Or trying to get Steve’s attention. But no, if he wanted his attention, surely he would have tried to communicate that by now. Steve was suddenly very aware of his heart thudding against his ribcage. He was nervous and excited and filled with such a strange exhilaration that he didn’t know what do. Was it normal to feel that, just from the touch of someone else’s hand? Especially someone who had been, if not downright hostile, at least very unfriendly for most of their time together.

He was so entrenched in his thoughts that he could barely muster a ‘thank you’ when the waiter came and changed out his empty glass for a full one. His entire being existed only in his hand, on the gentle press of Bucky’s fingers, the delicate fluttering of the pulse in his wrist. 

No, no, definitely not normal. Something dawned on Steve with horrible clarity: he was maybe a little, completely interested in Bucky.

Fuck. When had that happened?

It was Sam who once again pulled him from the whirling maelstrom of his thoughts. “So Bucky,” he said, and now, with attention back on him, Bucky dropped his hand. The air felt too cold after the warmth of his skin. “You’re in luck. I just so happen to be the local expert on all things touristy.”

“All things tacky, you mean,” Natasha said.

Sam gave her a mock at her as Clint tried to hide a very undignified snort of laughter. “As I was saying,” he continued, “before I was so _rudely_ interrupted, I have been to damn near every tourist spot in this city.”

“He’s not exaggerating,” Clint said, nodding. “If you can name it, Sam’s been to it.”

“What can I say?” Sam shrugged, looking pleased with himself. “A man’s gotta have a hobby.”

Natasha grimaced. “You know, tourist traps wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for all the _tourists_.”

“There’re not so bad once you get used to ‘em,” Sam said, shrugging.

“I will never get used to men wearing fanny packs and socks with sandals stopping to take pictures every two feet and jamming up the sidewalk for us hard-working New Yorkers.”

“Well _excuse them_ for enjoying theirselves.”

Clint jumped in. “Nat, are you trying to say that you’ve never been a tourist? I call bullshit. You’ve visited practically half of Europe.”

Nat tossed her hair over one shoulder with a smug grin. “I blend.”

“Ugh, boring,” Sam moaned. “If I wanted to blend I’d stay in my own damn city.”

For the entire exchange, Bucky’s eyes had been darting back and forth between the three of them, like he was watching a ping pong match. Steve, on the other hand, had been watching Bucky, studying the profile of his face. Had he always been so handsome?

Sam banged his fist down on the tabletop, starting all of them into silence for a second. “ _Anyway_ ,” he said, glaring at each of them in turn. “What I was trying to get at, before we got derailed by nonsense, is that if you need any help finding something cool to see in the city, I’d be happy to help you out.”

Bucky gave him a small nod and smile. 

“Where’re you staying at, so I know what’s around you?”

Bucky looked extremely uncomfortable and his eyes darted over to Steve’s for half a second before he answered. “Steve’s letting me stay with him.”

The moment the words slipped past his lips, Steve saw Natasha tense. Her back stiffened minutely and her face rearranged itself into a bland mask. He swallowed nervously. Having Bucky around Natasha may have been an error on his part. She was too perceptive. Steve silently willed Bucky to keep his cool.

“I thought you two just met?” Natasha questioned. 

“We did,” Bucky said. He hesitated, and Steve saw Natasha narrow her eyes and open her mouth to question him again.

“And the place he was staying sucked, so I offered him my couch,” Steve said, effectively cutting her off. 

Sam raised an eyebrow while Clint stared into his drink. The amicable atmosphere had fled, leaving thick tension it its wake. Steve tried not to fidget under Natasha’s disapproving look; trying his best to appear confident. 

“Look, guys,” Steve said, looking at each of them in turn. Next to him, Bucky remained silent. “I appreciate your obvious concern, I do. But I’m an adult. Trust me to make my own damn decisions.”

“Hey, man.” Sam tipped his glass in Steve’s direction. “I trust you. If you say he’s fine, that’s enough for me.”

Steve smiled, [] and genuine, while Clint murmured his agreement from the other end of the table. Natasha remained silent, but then again Steve didn’t expect anything less. Natasha was one of his oldest friends and she was fiercely loyal. He loved that about her and wouldn’t change it for the world, most days. Today was one of those days. 

“I swear I’m not an axe murderer. Steve’s safe with me,” Bucky said, and the smile he flashed was completely unlike any Steve had seen thus far from him. It was charming and a little crooked, and to Steve’s eyes, so, so _fake_. 

The smile may have been fake, but Steve knew the sentiment behind it was real. He _was_ safe with Bucky. He knew it in his bones, had known it from the first second he’d set eyes on him, frozen in a dirty alley. He shuddered to think what his friends would think if they knew. Would they understand? It was his career to hunt these creatures down, and here he was, letting the most dangerous of them into his own home, not to mention his heart. 

At least the smile seemed to put Sam and Clint at ease. He’d have to work on Natasha later.

And then, of course, because things finally seemed to be going smoothly, disaster struck. 

In this case, disaster took the form of Brock Rumlow.

Clint spotted him first, his easy smile sliding from his face. “Heads up, Rumlow just walked in the door with Rollins.”

“What do you think the chances are that he just ignores us?” asked Sam.

Steve sighed. “Not high.”

“You know,” Natasha said as she trailed one finger idly through the condensation on her glass, “I’m actually glad Pierce picked him for his task force. Working extra shifts sucks, but not having to spend any amount of my day around Rumlow is worth it.”

“Task force?” Clint asked, looking curious.

“Yeah.” Natasha nodded. “Alexander Pierce is running it.”

“What’s it about?”

“No clue. Super secret squirrel stuff.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, still chuckling at Natasha’s words, “apparently us mere mortals are being left out the loop on this one.”

“Well, at least you guys finally know your place.”

The voice that cut in was low, gruff, and completely unwelcome. Steve turned to look at the person it belonged to and clenched his jaw hard when he saw Rumlow standing next to their table. He was standing casually, radiating an all too familiar air of superiority. Behind him, Steve could see Jack Rollins. He was hanging back a bit, like always. Jack reminded him sometimes of an overeager puppy, following Rumlow around and hanging on his every word. They made an unpleasant pair. Steve turned back and glanced around the table; he saw his own look of distaste mirrored on his friends faces. Even Bucky was shifting slightly in his seat, sensing the sudden air of tension.

“And what place would that be, Rumlow?” Natasha asked cooly. Her eyes narrowed dangerously and her hand tightened on glass like she was debating whether or not to use it as a weapon.

“Oh, don’t be like that sweetheart,” Rumlow drawled. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Sam’s hand shoot out to land firmly on Natasha’s shoulder- a silent reminder to stay calm. Not that she needed it; Steve didn’t know anyone who could maintain their cool in tense situations like Natasha. It was just that Sam was used to dealing with Steve, who had a decidedly more temperamental approach to life. Even now he could feel his blood starting to thrum in his ears. Under the table, he squeezed his hands tightly into fists, nails stabbing little points of pain into the flesh of his palm. Everything in him was telling him to say something, or possibly just forgo words altogether and throw a punch. But he had to remember Bucky, who seemed to be getting more wary by the second. It wouldn’t do to draw attention to him, especially around two fellow agents, who would likely not be as sympathetic as Steve had been.

“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business,” a voice said quietly. Steve stared in surprise when he realized it was Clint who’d spoken; he had rarely heard him be so aggressive.

Rumlow turned his dark eyes to Clint, crossing his arms as he said, “I don’t take orders from you, Barton. Hell, I wouldn’t even take suggestions from someone who couldn’t cut it in the academy.”

“Hey!” Steve had heard enough. He was halfway out of his seat before Bucky’s hand on his arm dragged him back down. His back hit the seat with a thump just in time to hear Clint say, “Leave it, Steve.”

“Yeah Rogers, leave it,” Rumlow said, sneering. Steve thought idly that he’d be quite handsome if he wasn’t such a jackass. “You don’t need to stick your nose into every conversation. And who’s this?”

Rumlow jerked his head towards Bucky and Steve felt his stomach drop. It was probably stupid of him to even hope that Rumlow would leave Bucky alone; it just wasn’t in his nature.

“None of your fucking business.”

Bucky’s tone was dark, and his voice held a hint of steel. It was a warning to anyone smart enough to listen. As expected, Rumlow was not the listening type. He smiled down at Bucky in a predatory way. Steve had seen him use that expression on people before. But if he was expecting it to work here, Steve realized, he was out of luck. Bucky was a better predator than Rumlow would ever be. 

Steve watched as Rumlow’s grin faltered just the tiniest bit at the defiant look in Bucky’s eyes. “Hey, we’re all friends here, right,” Rumlow said, bravado back in his expression. And then Steve watched in silent horror as the worst possible thing happened. 

As he spoke, Rumlow’s open hand clapped down on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky tensed visibly at the exact same second that Rumlow’s eyes widened. Bucky jerked his shoulder out from under the uninvited palm as quickly as he could, but it was too late. Rumlow had touched him and Steve knew exactly what he had felt under the baggy material of Bucky’s shirt. 

A very inhuman, very unmistakable wing.

Before Steve could even reach for him, Bucky was up and running out of the bar. Steve looked desperately between his friends, avoiding Rumlow’s questioning gaze, and willed them to understand. He knew he should say something, give some kind of explanation, but his mind was screaming _Bucky Bucky Bucky_. Instead, he mumbled something he hoped was halfway intelligible and dug quickly for his wallet, tossing a few bills down on the table before rushing for the door, following Bucky out into the cold night.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky was fast.

In the time it took Steve to leave the bar, he had already disappeared. Steve turned his head, looking down both sides of the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of broad shoulders and dark hair, but there was nothing. It was starting to snow again; the fast, driving type of snow that made it’s way under your clothing and let the cold seep into your bones. Steve exhaled, watching his breath plume into the air and fade away. Reluctantly he turned towards home. There was no way to know which way Bucky had gone for sure; all Steve could do was hope that he had gone back to the apartment. 

As he walked, the snow started coming down harder. Steve didn’t even think it was possible, but it seemed like the temperature was dropping even lower. The city was in for a storm. Steve blinked snow off his eyelashes and thought about Bucky. Had he gone back to the apartment? God, Steve hoped so, but what if he hadn’t? The weather tonight was going to be even worse than the day they had met. What if Bucky was alone, out on the streets, and the same thing happened again? He still wasn’t back to full health. He could get sick again. He could-

With a hard shake of his head that almost set him off balance on the icy sidewalk, Steve pushed the thoughts from his mind. If Bucky was gone, there was nothing he could do about it now. If he wasn’t at the apartment when Steve got there, he’d have to wait until the morning to search. Sam didn’t have a shift tomorrow, so maybe he could even rope him into helping.

That particular thought sent a flood guilt through him and he fumbled for his phone in his pocket before pulling it off and sending a text to his friends. Just a simple sorry for leaving so abruptly. After the message was sent, he turned the phone off and stuck it back in his pocket. He’d have to think of something to explain his behavior before he saw them again. 

When he finally reached his apartment he paused, hand hovering over the door handle, suddenly uncertain. He was afraid to open the door, wasn’t sure what he would do if the apartment was empty and dark. He was still standing, fingers twitching, when the door swung open from the inside. And there, standing in Steve’s apartment, wearing Steve’s ratty old sweatpants and scowling, was the most beautiful sight he’d even seen. 

He couldn’t help himself. Steve launched himself through the opening and wrapped Bucky up in a hug. He felt Bucky’s body stiffen for a second before relaxing and then tentative hands were on him, returning the hug, albeit slightly less enthusiastically. Steve let all the worry flow out of him and he turned his head, murmuring into Bucky’s neck.

“I was so worried. I thought you’d gone off to freeze to death.”

Bucky’s voice rumbled in Steve’s ear and he shivered, although it had nothing to do with the weather. “I can handle myself, you know. I’m not completely useless.”

Steve leaned back slightly, enough so that Bucky could see his raised eyebrows. 

“You didn’t catch me on my best day,” Bucky muttered, indignant. 

Steve swallowed his laughter, not wanting to make Bucky too defensive. And not wanting to give him any reason to end the hug either. Bucky’s body was so warm and solid beneath his fingers and Steve wanted nothing more than to curl around him and go to sleep. He shifted his hand and felt the ridge of Bucky’s good wing. 

Steve froze. Bucky’s wing. The one that Rumlow must have felt. Somehow in the chaos he had forgotten why they left in the first place. 

Steve pulled back out of the hug, no longer content and happy. Instead he was sick to his stomach with worry. The words tumbled out his mouth in a breathless rush. “I’m so sorry about Rumlow. I didn’t know he would be there and I didn’t think in a million years he would touch you. Oh god, do you think he figured it out? I’d never-“

“Steve,” Bucky interrupted him and Steve stopped midsentence, staring wide-eyed at him. “It’s fine. I’m not worried.”

“You’re not?”

“Well, for one, I don’t plan on ever crossing paths with him again if I can help it, and two, what’s he gonna do? Try to take me in because he maybe felt something that might be something in the brief second he touched a total stranger on the back? I don’t think that would go over well with your bosses. And besides, I’ve tangled with agents like before. If I need to, I can handle it.” 

Bucky’s eyes were steely and determined and Steve so badly wanted to believe that everything would be as alright as he said. And maybe it would. Time would tell, and there was nothing Steve could do but hope. 

Something else grabbed Steve’s attention. Now that he was no longer touching Bucky, he realized that his apartment was cold. Extremely cold. He puffed out a breath experimentally and cringed when he saw the resulting cloud. 

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky said, like the thought had only just now occurred to him. “I think your heat’s out to your whole building. I didn’t go knocking on doors or anything, but I did mess around with the thermostat a little. Looks like we’re in for a cold night.”

“Damnit,” Steve groaned, as he walked over to inspect the thermostat. Bucky hadn’t been lying; no matter what he did, he couldn’t make the air kick back on. “I swear, this happens every damn year.”

“Can you fix it?”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “I could call the landlord, but he’s pretty bad about fixing things. It’ll be at least tomorrow before he sends anyone out. I guess we better hunker down for the night. I’ll go grab some blankets.”

“Hmmm.” 

Steve glanced at Bucky, who was standing casually, arms at his sides and still clad in one of Steve’s shirts. He didn’t look cold at all- if anything he looked even more comfortable than Steve had seen him yet. He guessed that made sense; since Bucky naturally ran hot, the constant heat of Steve’s apartment probably wasn’t the most pleasant. 

As he stood there contemplating, Steve felt the cold creep even further under his layers of clothing. He shivered slightly. His apartment was quiet save for the sound of their breathing and the faint murmur of music from next door. He was so used to the sound of the ancient ventilation system that the silence felt almost eerie. 

“Well,” he finally said, “You may be fine, but _I_ don’t come with my own natural heating system, so I’m gonna pile some blankets on my bed and try to stay warm until morning. You gonna be okay out here?” 

“Mhmm.”

“Good,” Steve gave him a small smile, which Bucky returned. Their eyes caught for a moment that lasted a little too long to be comfortable and Steve broke away, feeling the back of his neck flush warmly. “You know where I am if you need something,” he murmured before making his way back to his bedroom.

He ended up piling every blanket he owned in a heap on his bed and then squirming his way under them. It helped a little, but he still found himself wishing fervently that he had invested in thicker blankets. Steve was just starting to contemplate leaving his cocoon to go grab another jacket when a sudden sound reached his ears. He pulled his head free from the blankets and glanced around, blinking rapidly when he saw the source of the disturbance. 

It was Bucky. He was standing awkwardly in the doorway of Steve’s bedroom. He looked uncomfortable, a little unsure of himself, arms crossed tightly over his chest and eyes slightly downcast. It was, Steve realized, the first time Bucky had been back here while Steve was home. He normally kept to the living room and the kitchen when Steve went to bed. He never heard a sound from him during the night and Steve wasn’t exactly the lightest sleeper in the world. 

“Everything okay?” he finally managed to force out.

“I could hear you shivering from out there.”

Steve couldn’t help it; he stared at Bucky, unsure what to make of that statement. Bucky wasn’t staring at the floor anymore, but he also wasn’t meeting Steve’s eyes. He seemed almost… nervous. It wasn’t a look Steve had seen on him much. He wasn’t exactly sure that he liked it. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Steve questioned again.

“I just thought maybe you could use some company,” Bucky muttered. He uncrossed his arms and brought one hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “I just- I run hot. I thought it might help.”

“Help?”

“Only if you want,” Bucky added quickly.

Steve suddenly didn’t trust himself to speak. Did he want? Hell yes, he did. The thought of Bucky in such close proximity- _in his bed_ \- was enough to send his mind racing to all sorts of dangerous places. But did Bucky want it? Surely he wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t, right? Still tongue-tied, Steve nodded dumbly in Bucky’s direction. 

Bucky approached the bed and Steve held up the edge of the blankets silently, and watched as Bucky slid his lean body under the covers. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then in one fluid motion he grabbed the edges of the blankets and pulled them over both their heads. In an instant, they were in the dark. With the added warmth of Bucky’s body heat, it was like being in warm, dark cave. Bucky shifted again, turning until he was on his side, facing Steve. His eyes were human at the moment, pupils wide in the low light and shining brightly in the dark. 

“Better,” he whispered.

“Better,” Steve agreed. 

They were so close, the air between them charged like a warm summer night before a storm. Heat rose from Bucky’s skin in waves and washed over Steve, banishing the cold like it had never been there at all. His skin tingled from the almost contact and he could smell the scent of his own shampoo from Bucky’s hair, which lay spread out on his pillow like a dark halo. The silence, which before had felt so eerie, now was perfect and content. Steve felt afraid to break it, to shatter this nearly perfect moment, and from the look he gave him, he knew Bucky felt the same. 

Steve was the one who finally broke it. “I’m glad you came back here. I was getting so cold I thought about lighting my dresser on fire just for some heat.”

Bucky laughed, and his breath warm and minty on Steve’s face. “What stopped you?”

“I was too cold to go get the matches.”

Steve tried to look serious but could only hold the expression for a second before they both broke down laughing.

“Well,” Bucky said, sounding breathless, “who needs matches when you’ve got a dragon.”

He brought a hand up between them and wiggled his fingers. A very small lick of flame appeared, rolling from his palm down to the tips of fingers and back, like it was a liquid. Bucky snapped his fist closed quickly, before the fire could catch on anything in the small, enclosed space, and Steve felt a burst of hot air. He looked in wonder at Bucky’s hand, which smooth and unblemished and looked nothing like it had just held flame.

“I thought dragons breathed fire.”

Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes, tucking his hand away again. “I’m continually surprised at how little humans actually seem to know about us. I thought you’d know more, given the way you’re always hunting us down.”

“It’s not exactly the easiest thing in the world, capturing a dragon.” Steve shrugged. 

Abruptly, the amusement faded from Bucky’s voice. “Yeah, I guess not,” he said.

Steve watched as Bucky closed his eyes tightly and inhaled hard, obviously trying to control his emotions. He wondered what he’d said exactly that had set Bucky off. He quickly ran through the past few seconds of conversation in his head, but he couldn’t find anything amiss. Bucky let out the breath he’d been holding and his eyes, when they opened, were sad.

“Buck?” Steve couldn’t keep the concern from his voice.

Bucky was silent for a long time; so long that Steve started to wonder if he’d actually said anything out loud and not just in his head. Again, he felt the oppressive silence of the apartment. There weren’t even the sounds of traffic, snow dampening the noise from outside and the wall of blankets blocking any sounds from his neighbors. Even so, when Bucky finally answered, his voice was so quiet that Steve struggled to make it out.

“I miss my family.”

“Oh.” 

Of all the things Steve had expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. He didn’t know how to respond. What was the right thing to say? And even if he did know the right thing to say, would Bucky even want to hear it from someone who’s life work was doing exactly what had caused Bucky’s pain in the first place. _It’s different_ , another part of him argued, _you only take down the dangerous ones. Bucky’s family was peaceful. What happened to them wasn’t right_. Steve swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He was starting to feel like none of it was right at all. 

He looked at Bucky, hoping his inner turmoil wasn’t showing on his face. There was enough to deal with without adding his doubt into the mix. Bucky’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears. Steve reached for him without thinking, resting a hand against his cheek. Bucky’s skin was warm against his palm. Steve felt the tears then, coursing down Bucky’s face and slipping between Steve’s fingers. He didn’t say anything, just left his hand there to comfort as Bucky cried.

“Tell me about them,” Steve whispered.

“They were amazing,” Bucky replied, his voice thick with emotion. “Mom could make anyone smile. Didn’t matter if you had the worst fucking day of your life, ten minutes of talking to her and you just couldn’t help but feel like things would turn out alright.” As he spoke, the tears stopped and his voice slowly got steadier. “Dad could be a hardass sometimes, but he was just trying to keep us safe. I always thought he was being too cautious. Paranoid, you know. But I guess he was right.”

Bucky took a deep breath and shook his head. To Steve’s relief, it seemed to pull him back from whatever dark road his thoughts had started down. “Anyway, doesn’t matter now. He was a good father. And he loved Mom so much. I always hoped, when I was growing up, that I would find someone to feel that strongly about too.”

He fell silent for a second, so Steve prompted him. “Siblings?”

“Just the one.” Bucky smiled fondly though his eyes were still sad. “A sister. Becca. She was a pain in my ass.” He huffed out a little laugh. “But just the best, and so smart. Pretty too, just like Mom. We annoyed the crap out of each other, and sometimes I thought we were gonna give Dad a stroke, the way we fought, but she was my sister, you know?”

Steve smiled back at him, shaking his head. “No, I don’t. I was an only child.”

“Wasn’t that lonely?”

“A little, I guess. But it was probably a good thing. I was sick a lot as a kid, and it wasn’t easy on Mom.”

“What about your dad?”

Steve shrugged. “He died before I was even born. Mom raised me on her own. She did her best, but it must have been hard to raise a kid who needed so much attention all the time.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Like spending time with you is such a hardship.”

“It can be,” Steve replied.

“I’m sure,” Bucky replied, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “Do you see her a lot?”

“Uh, no,” Steve said. “She died when I was nineteen.”

Bucky winced, his eyebrows pulling together in concern. “Shit, I’m sorry. And here I am, acting like I’m the only with problems. How did it happen?”

“Seriously, Buck,” Steve said, “It’s fine. Something terrible happened to you and you have the right to be upset. Besides, for me it’s been a long time.” He took a deep breath; it was partially true, it _had_ been a long time, but the truth was it still hurt like it yesterday. “She was killed by a wendigo, on her way home from work one night. It’s actually one of the major reasons I joined SHIELD. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Shit, Steve.” Bucky’s eyes were wide, the whites bright in the darkness. “And you still let me stay with you? After all that. I mean, you spend your life fighting things like me.”

“You know,” Steve sighed, “A few years ago, I don’t think I would have. I would have taken you down without a second thought, because according to SHIELD, all non-humans are violent and need to be dealt with accordingly to keep the people safe. But…” Bucky was watching him, rapt. “I’m not so sure anymore that what we’re doing is right. And meeting you has- I’m just not sure.”

Bucky’s eyes were soft, and filled with an emotion that Steve couldn’t read. He opened his mouth to ask what was the matter, but before he had the chance, Bucky surprised him by shifting forward and confidently reaching to place his hand gently on the back of Steve’s head, and then pulling him forward into a kiss. 

Steve’s surprise lasted only a second before he was melting into it, meeting Bucky halfway. The flood of sensations going through him was so strong he was having trouble sorting it all out: the soft feel of Bucky contrasting with the rough stubble of his beard, the heat of his skin and the pressure of his hand on the back of Steve’s head. Then, as quickly as it had begun, Bucky pulled away from him. Bucky’s lips were pink and slightly swollen, and the sound of both their breathing filled the small space. Steve licked his lips tentatively, and saw Bucky’s pupils dilate even further at the sight. 

“Was that okay,” asked Bucky, sounding unsure, like he thought that Steve might be angry, when nothing could be further from the truth.

“Bucky?” Steve said solemnly and Bucky’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “Shut up and do it again, or I swear I’ll make you go back to the couch.”

When their lips met again, he could still feel the smile on Bucky’s mouth.

* * *

The first thing Steve became aware of was the shrill ringing of his cell phone. As he groped blindly for it, his hand met only a mass of blankets and an empty space next to him. The sheets beside him were cool to the touch, and that wasn’t right, was it? 

In a flash, it all came flooding back to him: the broken heater, his freezing bed, and then the warmth of Bucky’s body next to his and then… Steve felt his cheeks flush. They had kissed last night, and it had been wonderful and perfect and better than every thought had been creeping into Steve’s mind unbidden for the past few days. He curled his fingers into the fabric and another thought hit him. He shot up, eyes flying open, blankets falling away as he looked desperately around his room. If last night had been so good, _then where the hell was Bucky?_

And then, as if he had summoned him, Bucky appeared in the doorway. “Calm the hell down, Steve. I could practically hear you stressing from the kitchen.”

“Huh?” Steve gaped at him, open-mouthed and blinking.

Bucky rolled his eyes and approached the bed, setting a mug down onto the bedside table with a heavy thunk. “As touching as it is that you think I would just walk out after making out with you all night like a teenager, I was just in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” 

“Yeah.” Bucky settled onto the bed, shoving aside blankets and leaning against the headboard. He was comfortable, like he’d been in Steve’s bed a thousand times, instead of just last night. Steve loved it. “The heat kicked back on an hour or so ago, but it’s still pretty cold. Figured you could use something hot.”

Steve grinned. “Well, good thing I’ve got you then.”

“Wow, that was terrible,” Bucky said, deadpan. “Take your drink and please, for god’s sake, never attempt a joke again.”

Steve nodded in mock agreement as Bucky passed the mug over to him. The light, soothing fragrance of green tea wafted over him and he inhaled deeply. “I love you for this,” he said.

“Sure you do, I’m very lovable,” Bucky replied. “Was that your phone I heard ringing earlier?”

Oh! In all his worry, Steve had completely forgotten the reason he woke up in the first place. He looked reluctantly put down the mug, which had been doing a rather excellent job of warming up his hands, and reached for his phone.

“Hmm,” he said, glancing at the screen. “That’s weird.”

“What is?”

“It’s Natasha. She knows I’ve got today off. She normally wouldn’t call me this early when I’m not working.”

“Do you think it’s about last night?” Bucky asked quietly.

Steve swallowed hard. “Let’s hope not,” he said, knowing that the thought was definitely a futile one. Nothing got by Natasha. In the few seconds it took him to call her back, his mind came up with all sorts of unpleasant possibilities for her call. 

“Steve.” Natasha’s voice was brusque and no-nonsense. He knew that tone well; it was one she only used when they were heavy on the trail of some creature and closing in for the capture. Oh god, she knew about Bucky. Of course she knew. He had been stupid to assume anything else. 

“What is it, Natasha?” He thought he did a fairly convincing job of keeping the panic out of his voice. 

“I need your help?”

“What?” He felt the tight knot of tension in his chest loosen just a little. “You need my help with something?”

“Hey,” she said cooly. “I’m not above asking for help when I need it.”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly. He didn’t feel the fear as acutely now, but confusion was quickly taking its place. Bucky was watching him curiously, and he tipped his head in question as their eyes met. Steve shrugged his shoulders in response. “I wasn’t saying that. It’s just that you usually- anyway, what do you need my help with?”

“Rougarou. It’s been terrorizing an entire neighborhood. Dropped another body last night. I’ve been tracking it for a couple of days now, but I think taking it down might be a two-man job. I know today’s your day off, but you’d really be doing me a favor.”

“Of course,” Steve answered quickly. The relief that flowed through him was almost overpowering. It wasn’t about Bucky. The secret was safe, at least for now. “When and where?”

“Can you do now? I’d really like to get this done as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, sure. Just tell me where to meet.”


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, the neighborhood was a rather affluent one. Restored brownstones lined the well-lit streets, their trim neat and tidy and the street looking well-kept even under last night’s snowfall. The snow itself was still fresh, a white frozen sheet lying undisturbed over the sidewalks and stairs. It was unbroken save for a few sets of footprints from early morning commuters. Exactly the kind of place where no one expected trouble to show up.

But trouble was here, regardless of whether it was expected or not. Steve scanned the street again, eyes flicking quickly over the quiet homes, most still dark in early morning. He was looking for tracks or disturbed snow or anything that might indicate the presence of the rougarou. Nothing caught his eye. He couldn’t hear anything either, but he wasn’t surprised by that. The dampening effect it had on sound had been pleasant the evening before, but was hell on a hunt. What Steve wouldn’t give for some good, crunchy fall leaves to make tracking this thing easier.

The wind bit sharply at his ears as he strained to listen, and finally, he picked up something: the sound of two adults walking, one light and quick, the other heavier and slightly uneven. Natasha and Sam; it had to be, Steve had worked with them long enough to know even the sound of their footsteps. He turned and confirmed his suspicions with a glance. Not wanting to make any more sound than necessary, he raised a hand in greeting, his smile faltering at the twin grim expressions on their faces. 

Steve couldn’t think back to a single mission where he had seen that look on both their faces at the same time. That was the beauty of their partnership. Natasha was calm and cool and deadly with a weapon, while Sam was equally deadly, but always had a smile or a joke to crack. Steve felt unease creep into him and settle deep in his bones, chilling him more than the weather ever could. Whatever this was (and Steve had many, _many_ guesses as to what that might be) it wouldn’t be good.

“Sam,” he said, when the two of them had come within hearing distance. On instinct, all three of them drew closer to the dark corner made by the junction two nearby houses. It was habit; while people knew SHIELD and hopefully felt safer for their existence, they tended to get antsy when they saw agents in their own neighborhoods. Better to stay as out-of-sight as they could; the last thing they wanted was people in a panic with a rougarou loose.

“Steve.” And if their expressions hadn’t tipped him off, Sam’s voice would definitely had done the trick. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” Steve answered cautiously, shifting his gaze between them. Was it his imagination, or did Sam have the slightest hint of guilt? “Thought you couldn’t make it.”

“Change of plans,” Natasha said, cutting off Sam, who looked strangely relieved.

Steve narrowed his eyes. The cold morning air had nothing on the chilly tension between the three of him. Did they think he was stupid, that he wouldn’t recognize some sort of confrontation when he saw one?

Well, fuck that.  
He took a deep breath. The air burned in his throat and lungs, filling him with a sudden burst of adrenaline and courage. He loved his friends more than he could say, but he also wasn’t going to play this game. He didn’t have time for the tense back-and-forth, double-meaning conversation that he was sure was about to happen. He had enough going on in his life at the moment, thank you very much.

“Do we have a problem here,” he asked, meeting each of their eyes in turn with a long, unbroken stare.

“Steve, look-“

“Yes.” Natasha cut Sam off again, and this time he looked more disgruntled than relieved. “We know, Steve. About your _friend_.” She said ‘friend’ like she was talking about a particularly disgusting bug. 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, knowing as soon as he did it that his body language screamed defensive. There was no way neither of them would read it, so he plowed on ahead, not bothering to try and correct their assumptions. Besides, defensive was exactly how he felt. 

“And what exactly is it you think you know?”

“Steve,” Sam tried again, and the look on his face was so earnest that Steve felt a strong, fleeting desire to punch him. “You gotta know, we’re your friends. The only reason we’re doing this is because we care about you. Please just listen to us, just for a minute.”

Steve pulled his arms tighter against his chest and adjusted his feet, shoulder-length apart on the pavement. It was silent for a moment, while he waited for one of them to speak again. If his friends had the audacity to try some kind of _intervention_ on him, then he most certainly wouldn’t make it easy for them.

“We know what he is,” Natasha said. Straight and to-the-point. It was one of the reasons Steve loved her and, at the moment, also ones of the reasons he hated her sometimes. 

Steve felt panic flare hot in his belly. He had suspected from the moment they first walked up that they knew, but he had hoped… Well, it didn’t matter, what he had hoped. All that mattered now was keeping Bucky safe. And to do that, he’d have to talk to them.

“I guarantee you, it’s not what you’re thinking,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides, a clear indication he was dropping his guards too. 

“So he’s not a dragon?” she asked. Immediately, Steve looked over his shoulder to make sure no one had heard, but the street was still empty save for them.

“Quiet,” he hissed.

“Why? You had no problem bringing him out to the bar last night with all those civilians. Clearly you don’t care who knows.”

“It’s not- he’s not _dangerous_ ,” Steve shot back, voice dropping down into a whisper, like that might encourage her to do the same. 

She scoffed, but Sam cut in before she could say anything more. “Steve, man, look I know you think there’s good in everyone, and that’s one of things we all love about you, but this isn’t okay.”

“He’s not going to hurt me. He’s not going to hurt _anyone_.”

“I _know_ you’re not this naïve, Rogers,” Natasha said. Her face was a mask, blank and unreadable. “I get that he’s pretty, but even for you, this is a new level of stupid.”

Steve clenched his jaw. There were several things he wanted desperately to say, but almost all of them would guarantee an end to their friendship. He didn’t want that; all he wanted was for them to understand. 

“Was there ever even a rougarou, or was that just a convenient lie to get me here?” 

Sam sighed. He clearly recognized Steve Rogers at his most uncooperative. “There’s one in the area, but we’ve known where it’s nest is for a few days. We’ve just been waiting until a time when the streets would be mostly empty.” Sam glanced at Natasha and then continued, “We were supposed to go last night after the bar, but then-“

“Bucky,” Steve finished for him.

“Yeah.”

“So you decided instead, that you’d lie to me and call me out at the ass crack of dawn on my day off because you two are so _convinced_ that you know my life better than I do.”

“That’s not-“

“I’m a goddamn adult, Sam. Been one for a long time. I think I’ve got it pretty much figured out by now. And you,” he turned his attention to Natasha, “you knew last night, didn’t you? So what, you couldn’t have called me? Talked it out like reasonable, rational people? Do you really think that little of me, that you had to drag Sam into this, and then confront me on the street like I’m a damn criminal?”

For just a moment, he saw something like regret flit across her features, and then it was gone. Sam, on the other hand, looked at Steve with pity. It made Steve’s blood boil.

“Oh, so _now_ you’re quiet? You guys had so much to say earlier.” Steve could hear the pettiness in his voice, hated how childish he felt and how much loathed being angry with his friends, but he was angry enough that none of that mattered. “Seriously, guys, I’m dying to know how you think I should live my life, since apparently you’ve decided that I’m not capable.”

“Steve,” Natasha said, quietly. She didn’t even have the decency to look him in the eye, he thought angrily. Her gaze was instead fixed somewhere over his left shoulder. 

“Oh good, someone’s decided to talk-“

“Steve, _shut up_.”

It was a command and Steve, who’d had years of training, snapped his mouth closed on instinct. The silence lasted only a second before he started in again, angry at having lost his momentum.

“Really, Natasha? I-“

“ _Steve_.” 

It was Sam this time, and now he too, was looking over Steve’s shoulder, hand inching towards the concealed holster Steve knew was hidden beneath his shirt. Steve froze, and the undeniable feeling of being watched crawled it way up his spine. He would have shivered if he hadn’t been so bundled up against the weather. It was exactly like being five years old again, laying in his bed with the covers pulled up to his eyes and knowing with absolute certainty that the moment he looked away, something would crawl out of his closet and eat him. 

He had always been a bit of a dramatic child. 

“Can you see it,” he said, voice low and steady. He didn’t make a move despite how desperately he wanted to turn around. 

“Straight ahead,” she answered. “It’s waiting for us to make a move.”

“What is it doing here?” Sam hissed, pulling his sidearm free while remaining as still as he could.

“What do you mean ‘here’?” Steve asked. “I thought that was the whole point of meeting here.”

“It’s never come this far before,” Natasha said. “We’ve been watching it for a week, it’s never strayed beyond it’s hunting grounds. That’s why I had you meet us here to talk.”

“All the snow must have confused it,” Steve said. His neck was starting to hurt from the tension of holding so still. “It was practically a blizzard last night. The worst it’s been this winter so far. Natasha, I can’t see it. Can we get to it?”

“I think so, but we’ll have to book it. You’re the fastest, Steve. Hit the alley and turn left, Sam and I will chase it down head-on and force it to go that way. We’ll meet in the middle.”

Steve nodded. “On three then,” he said. “One, two, go!”

Steve whipped around, grabbing for his own gun and breaking into a sprint. The snow was deep and he left great gouges in it as he ran, but the ice beneath wasn’t bad and for that, he was thankful. Rougarous were fast, and he none of them could afford to slip right now. He hit the opening of the alley and skidded around, losing sight of Sam and Natasha as he turned. His last glimpse was of them running, weapons drawn and perfectly in sync. He didn’t need to worry about them. They would perform their part of the plan come hell or high water; now Steve needed to focus on his part. 

The alley was dark. It felt like their conversation on the street had lasted forever, but in reality it had been only a few minutes long, and the sun was still mostly below the horizon. Steve was hit with the memory of meeting Bucky for the first time, though this alley seemed much cleaner. He shoved the thought away. No time for that right now.

He ran, chest heaving and breath fogging up the air in front of him. He reached the end of the alley quickly and looked around. It had spit him out on the next street over. It looked practically the same, brownstones and stairs and snow. He couldn’t see Sam or Natasha or the creature. He couldn’t hear them either, no matter how hard he strained. That wasn’t right. By what he could guess about the neighborhood’s layout, they should be coming down that street just to his right. They had only a little more distance to cover than him. Even if he couldn’t see them, he should have at least been able to hear them by now. 

“Steve!” 

Natasha’s scream broke the silence and Steve whipped around, facing the alley he had just exited. The creature was there, practically on top of him. He could see Sam and Natasha behind it, sprinting, guns pointed at the thing’s back. They rougarou’s movements were too erratic though; they couldn’t shoot, not without risking hitting Steve. Something must have gone wrong. How the hell had the thing gotten behind him?

He didn’t have time to think about the answer to that question with the creature bearing down on him. The thing was huge, towering above him. Steve had his own weapon up and in front of him in a flash, but it wasn’t quick enough. For a moment all he could see was yellow, rabid eyes, and teeth as long as his hand. The creature’s stink assaulted his nostrils, fetid rot and decaying flesh. He fired but the shot went wide. There was nothing he could do, it was too fast, and Steve, against all his training, closed his eyes. 

There was a loud whoosh of air and then something crashed into him, crushing him into the concrete. His head hit the pavement and for a moment he saw stars. He could hear the creature above him, snarling wildly and the panicked voices of Sam and Natasha, getting closer every second. He opened his eyes, but his vision blurred and his head throbbed. Something warm splattered against his face. He brought his fingers up blindly to touch his cheek and then pulled back, staring at his fingertips. They were red.

Blood.

He hadn’t even felt the injury. His head spun. For some reason, all he could think about was Bucky. The snarling of the creature faded and he swore he could hear Bucky’s voice, feel the warmth of his skin, smell the uniquely smoky smell that was wholly his. 

“Steve!” Sam’s voice now. The volume made his ears ring. He felt a weight shift off of him and suddenly he could move freely. “You okay, man?”

Steve sat up, blinking blearily, trying to sort out his surroundings. He had hit his head hard, that much was clear. He swallowed and the taste of old pennies filled his mouth; he must have bitten his tongue too. Steve shivered. His clothes were soaked through by the snow and he was so, so cold. His head hurt and his ears rang and his vision swam in front of him. 

“Steve! Hey, Steve.” Sam’s voice again; he should probably answer. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. “Come on, focus.”

A sudden sound made him jump. It made his head throb, but the noise was also doing wonders for grounding him in the present. After what seemed like forever, his eyes focused on the sight of Sam’s hand held up in front of his face. He had snapped, Steve realized. Sam’s other hand was on Steve’s shoulder, warm and steady. He focused on the sensations, using them to pull his mind out of the fog as best he could. He could feel his temples throbbing in time with his pulse.

Finally, he was able to meet Sam’s concerned gaze. “You with me? We gotta go, _now_ ” Sam said. His tone was deadly serious.

“Yeah,” Steve said, nodding and then wincing as the movement set off a fresh wave of pain. “I’m good. I’ll be fine.”

Sam stood, dusting ice and snow off of his pant and then offered his hand to Steve. He took it, letting Sam bear most of his weight as he pulled him up. He hated to admit it, but the help was a relief. He wobbled slightly as he got to his feet. The fall he’d taken had been nasty, and more than likely, he had a concussion.

“What-“

The words died on his tongue as he took in the sight before him. The rougarou was dead. Someone- most likely Natasha- had ensured it wouldn’t be getting back again. But there was something wrong about the wounds. They weren’t right, didn’t look like gunfire, or even the knife he knew that Natasha carried when hunting. There were deep gouges in the creatures chest and across it’s face, perfectly parallel lines that shredded the flesh. There was blood everywhere, spattered across the ground like paint on a canvas, so starkly contrasting with the white snow that it almost didn’t seem real. In the middle of it all, Natasha was kneeling by something. Someone- on the ground, unmoving and silent.  
He stepped forward, wobbled a bit, and corrected his footing. He moved as if in a trance, every cell in his body shouting out not to look. Because he knew, he had sensed it when he was on the ground.

_Bucky_.

Steve ran the last couple of steps, falling to his knees beside Natasha. Beside Bucky.

Bucky was lying unmoving, the snow melted in great patches around him from the residual heat. He was pale, his dark hair twisted up beneath his head. Steve tore his gaze away from Bucky’s face. Except for the paleness, he could be asleep on Steve’s couch, ready to wake at the slightest provocation, a biting remark already on his tongue. The rest of him was-

Steve knew now that not all the blood in the snow was the creatures. He felt suddenly sick to his stomach. The rougarou had given as good as it got. Steve looked at one of Bucky’s hands where it sprawled on the ground, claws still extended and glistening with blood. Bucky’s claws were sharp and he was fast, but Steve knew from experience that rougarous were faster, and had nearly twice the reach with their deadly sharp claws than Bucky. He had to have known.

Steve swallowed harshly, fighting back the urge to cry, trying to ignore the way that the deep gashes on Bucky’s chest made his own heart feel like it had forgotten how to beat properly. It didn’t make any sense; Bucky was smart, too smart to have picked a fight when he still wasn’t back up to snuff. But even then he still should have been able to come away from the fight better than _this_. 

“What happened?” he said frantically, as he pulled his jacket off in quick efficient movements that sent his head spinning. The wind cut bitterly through his shirt as he pressed the jacket across the deepest of the wounds on Bucky’s chest. Bucky didn’t stir and Steve watched as the cloth under his hands slowly turned red with blood. It was warm- almost hot- a shocking contrast to the freezing temperature of the pre-dawn street. Small droplets sizzled as they hit the snow. The strength of fire was even in their blood, it seemed.

“He- he came out of nowhere.” Natasha sounded slightly shaken up. Steve knew exactly how much Natasha could take and still project an aura of calm efficiency. But this had affected her badly.

Sam came up behind them. “We thought that thing _had_ you and then he just jumped out in front of you. Never even saw him. He took the hit pretty hard and then just went nuts. I’ve never seen anything like it.” His voice was awed. “Remind me never to tangle with a dragon.”

Natasha had her own jacket off and wrapped around her hands, holding pressure on Bucky’s chest as well she could. “We can discuss the particulars _later_. Right now we need to get out of here before someone sees us and starts wondering why the hell SHIELD’s trying to save a dragon instead of killing it.”

Steve was too grateful for the help to wonder about her sudden change of heart. His own head was too full of panic to think clearly and the pounding migraine building steadily behind his eyes wasn’t helping matters.

“He’s gonna bleed out if we don’t do something soon,” Sam said, ever the voice of reason.

As much as the words chilled him in a way that the weather never could, Steve knew that Sam was right. They’d all had their requisite SHIELD emergency medical training, but this was behind something even the three of them could handle. And that was even before considering the fact that Bucky wasn’t exactly human, and Steve had no idea how his body might differ on the inside. 

Sam’s voice brought him out of his thoughts swiftly as he said, “Nearest hospitals only about twenty minutes away. I’ll get an ambulance down here. Steve, you and Natasha go with him. I’ll deal with this thing.” He pointed in the direction of the dead rougarou, still lying at the mouth of the alley, before pulling out his phone and starting to dial.

“No hospitals!” Steve said, at the same time that Natasha said loudly, “Don’t.”

Sam paused mid-dial. “Guys, we can hold pressure on the wounds out here and not much else. He needs actual professional help.”

“We can’t bring a dragon into a hospital,” Natasha said grimly. “The second people figure out what he is, it’ll incite a panic. New York isn’t exactly creature-friendly.” There was a hint of irony in her voice.

Steve nodded. Beneath his hands, Bucky was so very still. If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest, Steve wouldn’t know he was alive at all. 

“She’s right,” he said. “A dragon in New York is big news. SHIELD higher-ups would be on us before we could blink. Fury would be bad enough, but Pierce…”

“At the very least, we’d lose our jobs, but I’d be willing to bet Pierce wouldn’t hesitate bringing down charges on us,” Natasha said.

Sam exhaled slowly, then nodded. “No hospitals, then.”

Steve could feel the panic building inside of him again. They were wasting time; every second they sat here and argued, Bucky was getting worse. “What the hell do we do now?”

Natasha looked lost for words, and again it was Sam’s who spoke. “I might know someone,” he said hesitantly. 

“You might or you do?” Steve said. His words were harsh, but he was beyond caring how he sounded. 

“She’s a healer. Doesn’t live too far from here, you can get there in ten minutes if you run like hell.” He hesitated again, but only for a moment. “To say she’s not fond of SHIELD is putting it _lightly_ , but I helped her out of a bind once and she owes me one. Just tell her I sent you.”

Natasha looked at Sam sharply, but he cut her off. “Not now, Nat.”

She looked displeased but didn’t pursue it further beyond saying, “Fine, but we’re talking about this later. Steve,” she turned her attention to him, “Go, now. We’ll get him back to your place and wait there for you.”

“How are we planning to do this?” Sam asked. “We can’t exactly call a cab for this.”

She contemplated for a moment before saying, “Call Clint. He’ll help _and_ he’ll keep his mouth shut.” Sam nodded and immediately started dialing. Natasha fixed Steve with a hard stare. “ _Go_ , Steve. We got this. We’ll take care of him, I swear.”

Steve stared down at Bucky’s pale, drawn face and felt his heart break a little. “Please,” he said. “Please don’t-“

“We won’t,” she said emphatically.

Steve sighed and blinked hard, eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. He didn’t have time to fall apart, especially not now. Bucky deserved better than that, and Steve would be damned if he wasn’t going to give him everything he could. “Just-“ he whispered, letting go of his jacket and grabbing Bucky’s hand in both of his. “Be okay,” he whispered. “Please be okay. For me.”

He squeezed Bucky’s fingers as tightly as he dared while he committed the address Sam gave him to memory. Letting go of Bucky’s hand to leave hurt in a way he hadn’t known was possible until today. He looked down at him one more time, trying to memorize the soft curve of his cheek, the sharp angle of his jaw. “Be okay,” he said again. This time it was a command, and he hoped to god that Bucky somehow Bucky could hear it. “Please.”

As he ran, the words repeated themselves over and over in his head, almost like a prayer.

* * *

Steve ran hard. The frozen pavement slipped by beneath his feet and every step was agony. Throbbing pain lanced through his head and the pressure behind his eyes gave him the unsettling feeling that someone was driving an icepick through his brain His breath came short and fast, the cold scraping his throat raw, his lungs burning in a way they hadn’t since he was a child. 

Even so, he was fit and had been trained for situations like this. He shoved the panic and the fear and his screaming nerve endings into the back of his mind and slammed the door shut on them. He would feel later; right now he had a job to do. The stakes were as high as they’d ever been.

He bypassed the subway completely. He knew waiting for a train would kill him and- more practically- he was still covered in Bucky’s blood. It was drying rapidly, turning dark and tacky on his hands and in rivulets down his neck. He was sure he made an alarming sight, but the familiar black and white SHIELD logo on his chest would at least keep the more curious from trying to slow him down as he ran.

He was so focused on his task and the hypnotizing rhythm of his footfalls that he almost missed. He skidded to a stop, throwing himself into a wide-shouldered stance at the last minute to compensate for the sudden change in speed without falling over. He quickly took in the area and wondered briefly whether he’d heard wrong, but no- this _was_ the address Sam had given him. He was sure of it.

His wild run had taken him into a very different neighborhood from the one he’d left. The building were squat, ugly things, jammed in close together on the narrow street. There were storefronts lining the bottom floors. The bars were down, the employees not having yet come in for the day, but their blinking neon lights still advertised twenty-four hour check cashing and cheap liquor. More than a few were empty, boards covering the windows and broken glass glittering on the sidewalk below.

The door he was looking for was settled in next to a pawn shop. There was no sound when he pressed the buzzer so he tried the door. Wincing at the screech of metal on metal as it swung open, Steve peered into the gloomy interior. The stairway was cramped and his footsteps echoed in the small space as he took the stairs two at a time.

Finally, he skidded to a stop in front of a plain wooden door. It had clearly once been white, but now the paint was yellowed and peeling. He knocked frantically- although a more accurate term may have been pounded- and the door swung open to reveal a petite brunette wearing an oversized sweater and the stoniest expression Steve had ever seen. She wasted no time with pleasantries as she eyed him.

“What?” There was a lilt to her voice that sounded eastern European to Steve’s ears.

“My friend needs your help,” he managed between heaving lungfuls of air. While he had made excellent time over to her apartment, it had left his chest and throat feeling like he had swallowed fire. “Please,” he added, a tinge of desperation coloring his voice.

She looked distinctly unimpressed with something; Steve had the sneaking suspicion it was him.

“You are SHIELD,” she said. It wasn’t a question. He nodded and immediately she started to close the door. “I do not help SHIELD.”

“Wait!” He jammed his foot between the closing door and the frame. The woman scowled angrily at him, the expression marring the beauty of her sharp-boned features. “Sam told me to come here. Sam Wilson. He said you knew him, that you’d help.”

For one agonizing moment there was nothing, and then-

“That was before SHIELD took my brother and locked him up like an animal. So now, I do not help SHIELD.”

“Listen,” Steve pleaded, shoving his foot even further into the opening. For such a small person, she was putting enough pressure on the door for Steve to feel like he might just end up with some broken toes if they kept this up. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your brother, I swear.”

To his credit, it _was_ true. He hadn’t heard of anything like she was describing in- hell, in years at least. Human arrests by SHIELD were almost unheard of, except in a select few cases. Normally, they left the humans criminals to the police and the police did the same for them with creatures. 

“Please,” he said again. “My friend, he’s going to die if you don’t come help and it’s- It’s _my_ fault. He was protecting me and I-“ 

She stood there, arms folded tightly across her chest, projecting a strong aura of displeasure. But at the very least, she was listening. An idea came to him them; one he wasn’t completely convinced he could pull off. But, desperate times. He’d worry about the _how_ of it all once Bucky was safe.

“How about a trade?” She eyed him suspiciously, eyes raking over his face, clearly looking for any signs of deception. When she didn’t respond, he plowed ahead. “My friend for your brother. You come with me right now and I’ll find out what’s going on with your brother, I promise.”

“And you will free him?” she asked sharply.

Steve hestitated, choosing his words as diplomatically as he could. “I’ll do my best.”

Her tone was flat, brooking no argument. “You free him or I leave your friend to die.”

He started to argue on principle, the old familiar stubbornness against being told what to do stirring in his bones. He bit it back quickly; he wasn’t a child anymore and this was Bucky’s life he was bargaining with. “Okay,” he said.

She took one last hard look at him and he forced himself to straighten his back, standing as still as he could manage. She may have won their round of bargaining just now, but if weakness was what she wanted from him, she was in for a disappointment. 

Finally, she dropped her arms and pulled the door open again, blessedly releasing his aching foot. “Bathroom,” she said, “You can clean up. Do not get blood on my carpet.” With a sharp jerk of her head, she indicated a door off to the right before disappearing down a short hallway.

The bathroom was small and the tile was old and chipped, but still obviously cared for. Steve cranked the handle on the basin-style sink and plunged his hands into the stream of freezing water. Wishing he had clean clothes to change into, he set about scrubbing his face and picking at the congealed blood underneath his fingernails. For good measure, he ran a wet hand through his hair, little flakes of dried blood falling into the water below. He watched as they swirled down the drain.

His thoughts turned quickly to the woman. How did Sam know her? Creature healers didn’t exactly make a point of it to associate with SHIELD agents. He’d said that she owed him a favor. Steve wondered what exactly Sam had done for her. 

Something caught his eye as exited the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him. There was a small table against the well, draped with a colorful cloth and crowded with picture frames. Most of them were of the woman and a man with blonde hair. Steve picked a frame at random, taking it carefully from the tabletop so he could look at it more closely.

It had to be her brother. Up close, it was impossible to miss the similarities; they had the same eyes. His eyes were drawn again to the boy, whose dark roots showed clearly through the platinum blonde dye. He looked young and happy and Steve wondered what the hell he had done to warrant lock-up, and a secret one at that. The thought sparked a feeling of unease deep in his gut.

“Pietro.”

The voice came from almost directly in front of him and Steve nearly jumped a foot in the air in surprise. The woman was standing in front of him, wrapped in layers to protect against the cold, a large duffel bag swung over her shoulder.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. He placed the picture back down carefully. “I, uh, I shouldn’t have touched your things.”

“No,” she said as she reached out, running a fingertip lightly over the image of her brother. “It’s good. Now you know his face. A sad story is just a story, but now you have a face to go along with it.” She tapped the glass of the frame directly over his wide, smiling mouth. “It will be hard to forget your promise now that you’ve seen.”

She tapped against the glass once more and then, wordlessly, they left.


	6. Chapter 6

Everything was taking too long. 

Steve jiggled his leg, his foot tapping out a staccato beat on the floor of the subway car. A woman across from him shot him a dirty look and he stopped the tapping, only to resume again a moment later without thinking about it. Time was going by so slowly that it might as well be going backwards. Every time the train stopped, Steve had to resist the urge to scream. 

But still, he knew it made the most sense. He may have been able to run to her apartment, but between the bag of supplies she was carrying and his rapidly building migraine, it would have been impossible to duplicate. 

“What do I need to prepare for?”

“Hmm?” Her question pulled him from his very unkind thoughts about public transportation.

“Your friend,” she said. The way she said it, it was clear that she thought he was an idiot. “What is he?”

Steve glanced around quickly to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “A dragon,” he said in a low voice.

If she was surprised to hear that, than she did an awfully good job of hiding it. The only indication that he had said anything out of the norm was a slight raise of her eyebrows. “What are _you_ doing with a dragon, SHIELD agent?”

The train had stopped again and Steve watched a group of rowdy teenagers boarded their car, making much more noise than was necessary. “My name is Steve,” he snapped. He was done with her hostility; he had bigger things to worry about at the moment. 

“Well?”

“What?” he was louder this time, not bothering to try and curb his annoyance, hating that she was getting a rise out of him this easily.

“How exactly did you come to be friends with a dragon?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, meeting her eyes with a touch of defiance. “It’s a long story.”

She crossed her legs, one boot dangling in the air as she sat back. “We’ve got two more stops. Entertain me.”

“No,” he hissed under his breath as a mother with two young children settled into the seat next to him. The blood had dried almost black and, against the black fabric of his uniform, was almost invisible, but it still made him nervous. “It’s none of your business. We have a deal. You help him and I help your brother, but that’s it. I don’t know you and my trust is in real short supply these days.”

She didn’t respond, her eyes fixed thoughtfully somewhere in the middle distance. Steve closed his eyes and breathed hard through his nose, trying to dispel his anger. He hated being angry; he almost wished for the panic back instead. Almost. 

When they finally, _finally_ reached their stop, Steve was up and moving towards the doors long before the train had even started to slow down. He could barely keep himself from sprinting up the steps to street level. The only thing that held him back was the fact that he didn’t think the woman would follow him if he did. He settled instead for the longest strides he could take and still technically call it walking. Despite their obvious size difference, the woman kept up with him and didn’t seem to break a sweat, all while carrying the very heavy looking duffel.

Of course Steve didn’t know for sure it was heavy. Trying to be polite, he had reached to take it from her on the walk from her apartment to the subway and she had nearly bitten his head off for his efforts. After that, he had resolved to stay as far from the bag as he could.

For a few minutes he was lost in the familiar sounds of his neighborhood. It was later now and the sun was casting its feeble winter light across the buildings, painting everything in a warm, golden glow. People were only just starting their commutes and the city was waking up from sleep- or as much sleep as New York got anyway.

Steve felt a sudden wave of guilt crash down over him. Mornings like this were why he had become a SHIELD agent in the first place. He loved his city and wanted to do anything he could to preserve the peace for other people, even if it meant he had to live his own life in violence. He wished desperately that his life could be that uncomplicated again, even if just for one day. He used to know where he going, what he was doing and why. Now it was all mixed up. He had found himself doubting his friends and his trust in SHIELD leadership was all but gone.

It was a miserable feeling, being so unsure of his place in the world. 

“Stop thinking.”

This time her sudden break from silence didn’t scare him like it had before. “Excuse me?”

“Stop thinking.” She rolled her eyes at him, barely even breathing hard despite their fast pace. “I can hear you thinking from over here. It’s very stressful.”

“Yeah,” Steve muttered, half under his breath, “I’ll get right on that.”

At last they reached his building and Steve bounded up the stairs and to his door in record time. She caught up to him just before he could open it, reaching out and putting one her small, pale hands on his arm.

“Your friend, he will be okay. I am good at what I do.”

Steve swallowed thickly and nodded. “Thank you.”

“And my name is Wanda.” She smiled, a small, sharp, deadly thing. “Do not forget our trade, Steve Rogers. I am not the type that is good with forgiveness.”

With that, she pushed past him, through the door and into his apartment.

* * *

The only word that came to Steve’s mind when he entered the apartment was _warzone_. He’d never been in one himself, but he felt like this might come close. There were several sets of wet footprints, dark with blood and melted slush, running through the living room to the kitchen. Sam and Natasha had shoved Steve’s tiny kitchen table into one corner and laid Bucky on the floor. 

Natasha looked up as soon as they came through the door. “Oh thank god,” she said. Her hair made a wild halo around her face, and her eyes were wide and exhausted. “Remind me never to go into emergency medicine. I’d rather fight a werewolf any day of the week.

Sam looked up as well, locking eyes with Wanda, who regarded him cooly. “Wanda,” he said. “Thank you for coming. I… didn’t know about your brother.” He shot what would only be called a dirty look at Natasha. _That_ was definitely something Steve would have to get to the bottom of- later. “I’m sorry.”

She breezed by him, long auburn hair streaming behind her, and dropped gracefully into a crouch at Bucky’s side. “I did not come for you. Now, all of you, out.”

Steve watched Bucky’s face, still impossibly pale, the deep hollows around his eyes making his cheekbones stand out in stark relief. He had to strain to hear the faint sound of his breath, and if it weren’t for the slight movement of his chest, he might have been convinced he was imagining it. “Can I-“

“No,” she cut him off forcefully. “Out.” 

With that she turned away, pulling her bag to her side and starting to rifle through it. Steve still didn’t start moving until he felt a small pair of hands dig into his back, pushing him along. With Natasha behind him and Sam in front, he was marched into the living room. It felt oddly like being led to his own execution; from the looks on their faces that might not be completely off the mark.

Natasha continued to put steady pressure on his back until they reached the couch. “Sit.”

He did, running his fingers over the blanket still lying on the cushions, rumpled from where Bucky had abandoned it the night before in favor of Steve’s bed. He found quickly that the memory hurt more than anything. It probably wouldn’t stop hurting until he knew Bucky would be alright. Natasha had started speaking, he realized vaguely, still partially focused on the feel of the fabric between his fingers. It was hard to pay attention suddenly, but he forced himself to look at her.

“So,” Natasha said. She was seated on the far end of the couch, crossed arms and ramrod straight posture belying how upset with him she really was.

“This isn’t an interrogation, Nat.” Sam held up his hands placatingly as Natasha glared him down.

“Well, maybe it should be,” she said icily.

“But it _isn’t_ ,” Sam shot back, before looking between the two of them with what Clint jokingly called his ‘counselor face’. “Look, we’re all friends here, and I think we all owe it to each other to hear some explanations before anybody says something they might regret.”

Steve sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, noting idly that his apartment was back up to a reasonable temperature. It had only been last night that the heat had gone out and he’d shared a bed with Bucky, but after everything that had happened, it felt like a lifetime ago. He felt mentally and physically drained but he couldn’t tap out now; he had to push through. And maybe-

Maybe it was time to admit he couldn’t do this alone.

He scrubbed his hand over his face a final time, shaking his head a bit to clear it and looked up at his friends. _Friends_ , ones that he trusted with his life. And yet he hadn’t chosen to trust them with this. A mistake on his part, borne of his disease with SHIELD. But this was Sam and Nat, who he knew and who knew him. If there was a problem at SHIELD, they had to be just as uninvolved as he was. He felt suddenly ashamed for ever having thought otherwise. “Well,” he said, glancing from one to the other. “What do you want to know?”

If either of them were surprised by his sudden compliance, they didn’t show it. “I’ll start,” Natasha said. “What the hell have you been doing, Steve? And why didn’t you _tell us_ about it?”

He exhaled slowly as he looked at their expectant faces. He paused for a moment, trying to decide how to word everything, how to deliver news that he hadn’t even fully processed himself. _Fuck it_. “I’ve been harboring an illegal creature in my apartment,” he said simply, not pausing to wait for their reaction. Besides, it wasn’t like they hadn’t already figured that part out. “Pierce is corrupt. He’s poisoning SHIELD. He killed Bucky’s family. So now I’m going to help Bucky take him down.”

There was silence for a beat. Then two. And then-

“Okay. I believe you, man.”

Steve blinked hard, like it might make the image of Sam, hands clasped in loosely in front of him and elbows leaning on his knees, disappear. It didn’t, obviously; Sam just kept quiet, dead-serious. “You do?” Steve asked, a tiny hint of incredulousness in his voice.

Sam shot a quick look to Natasha before continuing. Whatever answer he found in her tight-lipped grimace must have been the one he was looking for, though Steve didn’t have a clue what it might be. 

“I just spent the last hour trying to keep him alive after he jumped in front of a damn monster for you. Nobody does what he did unless they’ve got a good reason.”

“And has it occurred to either of you that this whole thing might be a game to him?”

Anger bubbled up inside him, burning hot and bitter. “A game, Nat? _This_ -“ He pulled on his shirt; the overhead lamp picked up the dark patch of dried blood on his uniform, barely visible against the black. “This is not a fucking game! And if he dies in there-“ This time he jabbed his finger angrily in the direction of the kitchen, “-I suppose that’s just a part of his master plan to manipulate me? I wonder which part of his plan tipped you off. Maybe the part where he almost froze to death? Or how about the part where he almost bled out on the ground?” Steve’s voice had been rising steadily and he nearly shouted the last few words before he was able to get a hold of himself. He clenched his fists and forced himself to take several deep breaths.

“Nat.” Sam had moved to her side while Steve was speaking, and had one hand on her shoulder. “I think we got it wrong this time.”

“He lied to us!” She shrugged out from under Sam’s hand and turned to Steve. “You lied to us.” She didn’t look angry, not anymore. If anything she looked- _hurt_. Steve had been prepared to stand his ground against another attack but his anger evaporated in the wake of her pained expression.

“I-“ he began unsteadily.

“You’ve never lied to us. You’ve never lied to _me_. I want to know why, Steve. Why now? What was it about him that made you think you couldn’t trust me?” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. It was the closest to crying that he’d ever seen her. It wasn’t a sight he was eager to repeat. “And I know you’ve been unhappy at work lately, but I never expected this. How could you turn your back on SHIELD, on everything we stand for? What about what happened to your mother?”

The silence in the room stretched on unbearably long when she was finished. Steve felt like an overstretched guitar string, just one wrong move and he would shatter. God, he was tired. And this was all going so wrong. Natasha had pulled in on herself, as tight as she could, the walls around her like a sheet of impenetrable ice. Sam’s teeth were clenched, a muscle twitching in his jaw. And Bucky was- god, he could be dying, even with Wanda’s help, and here Steve was still fighting with the only people he had ever been able to fully trust. 

If this was ever going to be fixed, he had to be the one to do it. Mind made up, he slid down the couch until he was inches from Natasha, their knees nearly touching. Hesitantly, he reached for her hand and, when she didn’t flinch away or withdraw it immediately, wrapped it in his. “I’m sorry that I lied to you, Nat. To both of you.” He felt the corner of his mouth twitch in the semblance of a smile when Sam nodded his head that yes, he understood. Well, at least one of them did. For that, he was grateful.

“I never wanted to hurt. You have to know that.” He caught Natasha’s eyes and held them steadily, trying to impart as much seriousness as he could into his next words. “But something’s wrong at SHIELD, and it’s been wrong for a long time.” She opened her mouth to speak and Steve squeezed her hand tightly. “Tell me I’m wrong, Nat, and I’ll stop all of this. But before you do, think long and hard about the last few years, and if you can tell me, without a shadow of a doubt in your mind, that I’m imagining it, I’ll believe you.”

Natasha’s mouth snapped closed so fast he could hear her teeth click together, but she didn’t try to pull her hand away. He waited patiently for her to speak. He could see the wheels turning in her head, the look of comprehension dawning on her face in a way that made her look like a lost little girl. Until recently, Steve had taken a fierce pride in his job, but at the end of the day, it was still just a job. Natasha though- SHIELD was her home, her family. His heart ached for her.

“Nat?” Sam prompted after a minute or two of pained silence. 

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, but steady. After all, adapting was what she did best. “There’s a family- Djinns. They live near one of my routes and I see them every now and then, but I- They’re peaceful. Nine-to-five jobs and church on Sundays. Only thing missing was the white picket fence. I only found out what they were because of the kid. He’s young- too young to be careful, and I should have- But I didn’t.”

Sam’s raised eyebrows would be almost comical, if the situation hadn’t been so tense. “I can’t believe you’ve been giving me all kinds of shit about not reporting a healer, and this whole time, you been hiding a whole damn family?”

Her cheeks colored and she sat up a little straighter. The defensive posture made her look more like the Natasha he knew and less like a lost child. Steve didn’t think he’d ever realized how much she kept hidden behind her bravado. When this was all over he had to do better by her. He _would_ do better. 

“I know the rules,” she continued, glaring at Sam. “But the kid- he’s only five. I couldn’t.”

She swallowed thickly and Steve felt his stomach drop. He asked because he had to, but something deep in his gut knew already. “What happened to them?”

“I don’t know. They just… disappeared. Two months ago, no forwarding address. None of their neighbors knew anything, and when I checked the house-“ She closed her eyes briefly, as if remembering. “They hadn’t even taken anything with them. I knew, but I didn’t- They weren’t even _dangerous_.”

Steve gave her hand one last squeeze and then pulled back. He ran fingers through his hair, noting idly that he could really use a shower sometime soon. He grimaced. There were only so many things he could handle at once and apparently self-care was not currently one of them.

“I’ve been doing some digging. Did you know,” he said quietly, “SHIELD only started their zero-tolerance policy in 1984? Before that, creature regulation was on a case-by-case basis.” Natasha shook her head as Sam’s eyebrows crept impossibly higher. “Care to guess who was hired on as deputy director that same year?”

“Pierce,” Sam said tonelessly. Something seemed to occur to him suddenly. “Wanda’s brother. I didn’t even know he’d been arrested, but it doesn’t make sense.”

“Why?” Steve asked.

“They’re almost fully human. There’s fae blood in their family- it’s why they can heal- but it’s so diluted that they shouldn’t even have been on SHIELD’s radar. I never even thought about it.”

“I remember that,” Natasha interjected. “Rumlow was bragging about making the arrest in the locker room. I was on my way home, but I heard him talking to Rollins about it.” She looked at them, eyes wide. “It was right after Pierce recruited him for the task force.”

“Shit,” said Sam. “And Pierce was the one who rejected Clint’s application to SHIELD the year we all joined. Didn’t even let him do the testing.”

“Clint tried to join SHIELD? Why didn’t I know that?” Natasha sounded as surprised as Steve felt. He hadn’t known either.

Sam winced. “He wanted it to be a surprise, but Pierce never even let him past the front door. He said he never could figure out why, he was just as qualified as any of us. I guess afterwards he was too embarrassed to say anything. He only told me last year, that night he got tanked at the bar and I had to walk his ass home.”

Steve was confused; his head still hurt like a son of a bitch and he felt like he hadn’t slept in years. “What’s that-“

“Clint’s got shapeshifter in his blood,” Natasha said.

Steve blinked hard. It had been so long since they’d talked about it that he’d forgotten. “But that’s from generations ago. Not even his great-grandparents were full-blooded shifters.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter to Pierce,” Sam said grimly.

The room felt suddenly colder and Steve found that the only thing worse than suspecting your boss was involved in a conspiracy was actually having it confirmed. “It’s murder,” he said. “He’s trying to get rid of them all, using the safety of the city as an excuse.” There was ice in his bones. “And we’ve been helping.”

He stared at his hands, clasped in front of him so tightly that his knuckles were white and bloodless. His body felt strange, buzzing like a livewire and his thoughts were in disarray. His eyes kept bouncing from Sam to Natasha to the kitchen to the drying footprints on the floor and back. When Sam spoke, he had to struggle to hear him over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. 

“What the fuck do we do now?

“Now you go find my brother.”

Steve whipped his head around to catch the sight of Wanda leaning heavily against the doorframe. Truthfully, Steve knew little about healers. He’d never met one, much less seen one work. What he could tell was that whatever she had done for Bucky must have been exhausting. On closer inspection, he realized she wasn’t really leaning against the doorframe as much as using it to prop up most of her weight. She yawned so hard her jaw cracked, and it seemed like she only just barely summoned the energy to cover her mouth with one delicate hand. 

As if she could sense the question forming on his lips, she turned her head to him and said, “The dragon will be fine. Physically,” she amended thoughtfully, tipping her head in the direction of the kitchen. “When he wakes up he will probably still be an idiot.”

“Excuse me?” Steve said, completely unsure what the proper response should be. 

“I can learn more from a wound than you could learn from a lifetime of medical training.” It was only because she had probably just saved Bucky’s life that Steve chose not to be offended. “Those are rougarou marks. Even an adolescent dragon can tear a rougarou to shreds without much effort. But it seems he was more concerned with taking the hits than giving than giving them out.”

He could feel her hard gaze on him and wanted very badly for the floor the open up and swallow him whole. After a moment though, her eyes softened as she seemed to take pity on him. Steve wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or embarrassed. The last few weeks of his life had apparently robbed him of any sort of emotional control he ever had; now it seemed like every thought and feeling that passed through his head ended up displayed on his sleeve for everyone to see. 

“Do not blame yourself,” Wanda said. “I have never met a dragon who did anything but exactly what they wanted to do. And as I said- he will be fine.” Steve exhaled harshly, ignoring the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He swiped a hand roughly over his cheeks as she continued. “He has been sick recently, yes?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He’d been getting better though.”

“I thought so.” She pursed her lips. “I cleared most of the sickness out while I was working. I was not able to do much for the wing though. At the very least, it should not pain him as much as before.”

Steve winced; he’d had no idea that the wing hurt. Bucky had never given any indication that he was in pain. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

She waved a hand at him, a casual dismissal of his thanks. “What was the cause? To come close enough to a dragon to destroy a wing- it is not an injury I have ever seen.”

“The man that took your brother did that.”

She nodded in understanding, her face calm and blank. Steve marveled at it; she was even more unflappable than Natasha it seemed. “This man,” she said. “You will pay him back in turn?”

“Yes,” Steve said. He lifted his tired body off the couch and crossed the living room in a few great strides. Before he could even think about it, he had his arms wrapped around her in as tight a hug as he could give without hurting her. She felt small, but solidly built, beneath his hands and her hair was soft where it tickled his chin. “Thank you,” he said fervently, pulling away. “For everything. I _will_ find your brother.”

She laid a cool hand on his cheek in a gesture that he hadn’t felt in many years, not since his mother was alive. “You will,” she agreed. Steve wished he felt even half the confidence she seemed to have in him. She tilted her head slightly towards the kitchen. “Take care of that one.”

“I will,” Steve said. “I promise. Thank you, Wanda.”

She patted his cheek in another motherly gesture and smiled; it was a slight, knowing thing. “Now you,” she said, pointing at Sam and shouldering her bag in one fluid movement. “You will buy me lunch for all the trouble you have caused me.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders and caught Steve’s eyes, flashing a quick grin, before offering his arm to Wanda. Grinning, he said, “Can I take that to mean that every time I cause you trouble, you’ll let me take you out?”

She took his arm gently and smiled up at him. “Do not push your luck, Sam Wilson,” she said sweetly as she brought one heel down squarely on top of Sam’s foot. Sam let out a sudden breath in pain and Steve flinched; for such a small woman, she had a hell of a viscious streak.

“Of course not,” Sam said, half muttering under his breath. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Raising his voice again, he called back, “Steve, call me the second he’s back on his feet. We need a plan of action.” 

“I will,” Steve said, following them to the door. A freezing rush of wind entered the apartment as they left and Steve shivered. Beside him, Natasha was hurriedly tapping out a message on her phone. 

“Go take care of Bucky,” she told him, not taking her eyes off the screen. The phone dinged and she frowned at whatever message she had received. “I’m going to do some digging. I’ll call you if I find anything.” She looked up, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare. “We _will_ fix this.”

He frowned and gave voice to one of the thoughts that had been circling his head for the last few hours. “And if taking care of Pierce means the end of SHIELD? Are you still in?”

He saw the muscles of her jaw tighten before she said, “Pierce is a sickness, Steve. SHIELD has been sick before and survived. It will this time too.”

“I hope so, Nat. I really do.”

She nodded curtly as she tugged her scarf into place. Before she started out the door, she turned to him. “Oh, and expect a call this week. I have a friend that I think may be able to help Bucky.” Steve started to ask, but she was gone before the question was even halfway out of his mouth.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky, as it turned out, was an even worse patient than the last time. The fact that he and Steve are on much friendlier terms this time didn’t seem to matter, and more than once Steve found himself wondering if it would be wrong to strangle someone who’s currently recovering from a near-death experience. Hell, after the third time that Bucky _insisted_ on getting out of bed to do god-knows-what and ended up tearing his stitches _again_ , Steve very seriously considered tying him to the bed in a decidedly non-sexy way.

They fought about pretty much everything and if Steve weren’t so irritated, he’d be ecstatic that Bucky felt comfortable enough with him to be as annoying as had been. As it was, he’s just plain frustrated. Their arguments range from the mundane ( _“I swear to god, Steve, if you ask me how I’m feeling one more fucking time I’m going to choke you in your sleep”_ ) to the absurd ( _“Next time you try to get out of bed, Bucky, I’ll shove you outside and lock the door. You can go fight Pierce in your bathrobe, see if I care.”_ ). And somewhere in between all of that, everything became so utterly _normal_. 

After the first few days- which Steve spent barely sleeping in a truly uncomfortable chair while watching Bucky’s every breath for signs of discomfort- he returned to sleeping in the bed again. The second night he curled up next to Bucky, reveling in the warmth of him and relief of a real mattress beneath him, Bucky’s hand had slipped into his like it was the most natural thing in the world. In the rare moments they weren’t arguing about Steve’s _‘mother-hen ways, good god, do you think I’m an invalid’_ or Bucky’s _‘complete inability to stay still for two goddamn seconds, Jesus Christ’_ , it felt like they had known each other forever. Bucky told him more about his family, and in turn Steve shared more about his mother than he ever had with anyone.

It was perfect- or it would be, if they weren’t both so stubborn.

It’s that exact attitude that found them where they were currently- in an increasingly intense stand-off over a bowl of soup.

“Go fuck yourself,” Bucky spat, staring Steve down from across the kitchen table.

“Well that’s just rude,” Steve said, pushing the bowl further towards Bucky. “And after I went through all the trouble of making it for you.”

“You bought that at the deli, liar. I can see the take-out container in the trash.”

“Yeah, fine, I didn’t make it. But I _did_ go outside in the cold to get it for you. It’s practically the same thing.”

“Okay, first off, it’s really _not_ , and second, if I have to eat one more goddamn bowl of soup, I’m going to scream.”

Steve was not above using puppy-dog eyes to get what he wanted. The only trouble was that by now it seemed that Bucky was immune. “Come on, Buck. I’m just trying to make sure you heal. Watching you almost die once was more than enough for me. Twice, technically.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you try to guilt-trip me, Rogers. If I recall, it was your sorry ass I was trying to save, wasn’t it? You’ll have to help me with that. I guess I’m just so _weak and fragile_ that it’s affecting my memory.”

Steve sighed with frustration. 

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky pleaded. “I’m good, I’m fine, I swear. Wanda’s a miracle worker. Look-“ He yanked up the hem of the loose gray t-shirt he had on. He wasn’t exaggerating Wanda’s skill; all that was left of the hideous gashes in his chest were a few lightly pink, raised lines. Steve didn’t even want to consider what it might look like if they hadn’t had a healer’s intervention. “Good as new, so please, let’s just call it good so you can stop being my jailor and start being my… whatever-it-is we are now.”

Steve couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped. “Whatever-it-is, huh?”

“Yeah, well, guy I’d apparently risk my life for and would really, really like to get in bed is a bit of a mouthful.”

Steve grinned. “Boyfriend, then?” The face Bucky made was too funny not to laugh at. “Alright, we’ll stick with whatever-it-is. Not like it matters anyway. Doesn’t really change anything.”

“Damn right,” Bucky muttered, giving Steve a small, crooked smile. “Now can we _please_ go outside if I promise I won’t fall over dead in the street?”

“Only if you promise,” Steve agreed. “Hold tight, I’ll go grab your shoes.” Bucky gave him a withering look as Steve stuck the uneaten bowl of soup in the fridge. “Come on, Buck, you saved my life. At least let me help you out for a few more days.”

He took Bucky’s dissatisfied grunt as an affirmative and headed toward the hall closet, stopping to drop a kiss onto the top of Bucky’s head on the way. As expected, he made a noise of complaint about the display of affection but out of the corner of his eye Steve caught the tail end of a smile.

There hadn’t been any fresh snow in the last few days, but the air was still frigid. Steve would be worried about taking a still-healing Bucky outside if he didn’t think Bucky might murder him for voicing it. But at the very least, Steve mused, he could do his damndest to wrap him in as many layers as he’d permit. He was debating whether or not to grab an extra scarf as he dug through the closet for his warmest jacket when something caught his eye. Curious, Steve crouched down to peer deeper into the depths of the closet, shifting aside a few things that seemed to have fallen. And there, shoved in a corner underneath the raincoat that he knew for certain had been firmly on a hanger the last time he’d looked, was a pile of stuff. He ran a hesitant hand over the strange collection of odds and ends. There were a handful of bottlecaps, coins of every denomination, safety pins, thumbtacks, a cuff link that Steve was sure had fallen behind his dresser, a magnet off the fridge, and even what he suspected might be the battery cover from the television remote. He felt his eyebrows draw together in confusion as he surveyed the odd assortment of items. 

“Bucky?” he called, ducking out of the closet. There was a screech as one of the kitchen chairs was dragged across the floor before a familiar shaggy head of brown hair appeared from around the doorway. “What’s up with-“ Steve paused, unsure what exactly to call the pile of stuff currently occupying the corner of the closet. He shrugged and settled on just jerking a thumb towards the open door.

Almost immediately, Bucky flushed a deep red from his neck all the way up to his hairline. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, coming around the corner and shoving past Steve to get to the closet. He dropped to his knees and started sweeping the contents of the pile into his hands. “I’ll clean it up. It’s nothing. Fuck!” He jerked his hand back quickly and Steve saw the bright blue of the thumbtack stuck deep in the pad of his finger. Cursing under his breath now, Bucky yanked the pin out and stuck his finger in his mouth, but not before a single drop of blood escaped, hissing as the heated dragon’s blood struck the cold floor.

“Hey, calm down. It’s not a big deal.” Steve dropped to his haunches beside him as Bucky pulled his hand back and inspected his injured finger. Steve reached for it, but Bucky jerked away, glaring. Steve held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. It’s fine, okay? You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m just gonna go grab you a bandage. I’ll be right back.”

As he started to stand, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. Warily, Steve settled back down as Bucky’s gnawed on his lip, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than here in Steve’s apartment, having this conversation. “It’s- it’s just a thing, alright? I like to… collect things. It makes me happy.” The last part was said in a tone with which another person might admit to murdering someone. A sudden clarity dawned on Steve.

“Bucky are you… hoarding?”

Bucky looked so appalled that Steve almost fell over in an attempt to reign in his laughter. He wasn’t able to quite restrain it all. He snorted and quickly covered it with a cough. Bucky did not look amused. 

Steve forced himself to calm down as Bucky looked him stubbornly in the eye. “Oh my god, is that what you’re so freaked out about right now? Because you’re embarrassed?”

“ _No_.”

This time when Steve grabbed for his hand Bucky let him take it. “Nothing to be embarrassed of, Buck. I promise. Although, I will admit, I thought dragons evolved out of hoarding centuries ago.”

“Not really,” Bucky replied, glancing down at the items in his hand. He rubbed his thumb slowly across a quarter. “Just the big stuff. Most of us still,” he paused, still staring down at the coin. “Sorry I took your stuff.”

Making his intent clear, Steve cupped Bucky’s face between both his hands. “Don’t worry about it, Buck. Just- You can tell me stuff, you know? I won’t get mad at you for being _you_.” Bucky’s mouth twisted as a complicated series of emotions danced across his face. “I want you to be comfortable here. What can I do to help?”

Bucky licked his lips nervously, glancing to the side at the still-open closet. “Can I…?”

The sound of Steve’s cell phone going off in the kitchen startled them both, but then Steve smiled wide and dropped a small kiss on Bucky’s forehead. “Of course. Go ahead and put it back the way you want it, and I’ll go get that call, okay?”

Bucky nodded and before Steve even stood up, he was already turning back to the closet. He was already finished and was slouched on the chair by the time Steve returned.

“Looks like you lucked out,” Steve said.

Bucky glanced up at him, eyes narrowed and suspicious. “Why?” He looked about ten seconds from bolting, but Steve was used to that by now. He was also long past the fear that he actually would. The thought made him smile. “What?” Bucky asked, looking twice as wary now. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Nothing,” Steve said quickly, schooling his face into a more neutral expression. As close as they had gotten, Bucky could still be prickly about certain subjects, and Steve wasn’t sure how discussing how comfortable he had grown here would go over. “Well, not nothing,” he amended. “That was Natasha. Remember, I told you she had a friend who she thought might be helpful?” Bucky raised an eyebrow and tipped his head as an indication for Steve to continue. “I guess she finally talked to him. We’re supposed to meet him in about an hour. I guess you’ll get that walk you wanted, after all.”

* * *

Three subway stops and nearly forty-five minutes of wracking his brain, and Steve still couldn’t figure out what Natasha was up to. It was pointless, probably. She had always been one step ahead of everybody, ever since he had known her. He huffed out a breath, watching it mist out in front of him. Beside him Bucky, wrapped in enough layers to put an eskimo to shame, made a disgruntled noise.

“I can’t believe you think this is a good idea.”

There was absolutely no way that Steve was going to admit he had been thinking the exact same thing just ten minutes earlier. “It’ll be fine,” he assured him as he tamped down the urge to reach over and adjust Bucky’s scarf. He wasn’t entirely sure that a move like that wouldn’t leave him missing a few fingers. “I’m sure Nat knows what she’s doing.”

That feeling vanished more with every passing minute that they walked. As the streets around them became bigger and the housing more expensive, Steve wondered (not for the first time) if he had the right address. He checked his phone, wondering if the GPS had decided to play some sort of trick on him, rerouting him through progressively nicer neighborhoods until he had the distinct feeling that- with his moderately priced clothing and worn down shoes- he looked wildly out of place. 

Just as he Steve started to seriously think about just turning around and calling it quits, they finally arrived. After taking a moment to stare, Steve frantically checked his messages for the address Natasha had sent. Maybe he had typed it in wrong? That was the only plausible explanation for why they were standing in front of what had to be the most expensive building Steve had ever seen. One thought dominated over all the others as he stared up at the sleek building: what the hell was Natasha thinking?

Beside him, Bucky put into words exactly what Steve was thinking. “Holy shit.”

Steve nodded dumbly and pointed with one gloved finger toward the door. Bucky glanced up and then back at Steve before shrugging his shoulders in a _‘why not’_ sort of motion. Steve could currently think of at least seven reasons why not, and he was sure given time he could come up with more, the very least of which was that even the door itself looked like it cost more than he made in an entire year. Maybe two.

Before he could argue, Bucky had taken the lead and was already marching up the steps. Steve scrambled to follow, nearly skidding on the ice as Bucky pressed a button and a buzzer sounded from somewhere inside. 

“Yes?” The voice that answered sounded harried. 

For a moment Steve wasn’t sure what to say, but a sharp pinch in his side propelled him forward. He [yelped] and slapped at the offending hand. Bucky, who didn’t even have the decency to look guilty, smiled.

He glared at Bucky as he spoke. “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers. Natasha Romanov sent us?” He couldn’t help the questioning uptick in his speech. This time he caught Bucky’s hand before he could manage another pinch.

“One moment.” 

There was a beep and the sound of a lock disengaging. The door gave way to reveal a simple lobby, marble floors so polished that Steve could almost see their reflections. On the opposite wall was an elevator, and beside it a bored-looking man in a suit that did little to hide his burgeoning waistline. Steve couldn’t help but think that the man looked distinctly unimpressed by the two of them. 

“Um, hi,” Steve said uncertainly. This was getting stranger by the second. “I’m not sure-“

The man waved an impatient hand toward the elevator, cutting him off. “Upstairs,” he said.

The sleek silver door of the elevator slid open silently. For a moment, Steve hesitated, but ultimately, it was his trust in Natasha and her fervent hope that she knew what she was doing that, that had him grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him into the elevator.

The interior was just as sleek and shiny as the lobby. The smooth metal of the walls was unblemished and polished to a soft glow. It took a moment for Steve to notice what was amiss: aside from the doors, the walls of the elevator were perfectly bare, no buttons anywhere to be seen. 

“Wait!” The man had already turned away and as Steve called out, the doors slid shut just as noiselessly as before. With a slight rumble of machinery, they began to rise. Steve gripped Bucky’s hand a little tighter. They continued to rise and Steve tried to remember how tall the building had seemed from the outside. 

“Well, this is fuckin’ weird.”

Steve’s mouth was dry, but he managed to force a laugh. “No kidding.” Personally, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that this would all end up being one big elaborate prank.

Before long, they stopped their upward journey and the doors slid back to reveal what looked like a lavish sitting room. The floor was covered in fluffy cream carpeting and the entire back wall was nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows. Through them, the city looked like something out a children’s story book, blanketed in snow and ice. The man standing in front of them, however, looked as wildly out of place as Steve felt. 

He had a mop of unruly dark hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in days. There was dark stubble on his chin and a crooked tie hanging loosely around his neck. As he looked Steve and Bucky over, he pushed his thin, wire-framed glasses up higher on his nose. 

The man squinted down at a clipboard in his hand, papers haphazardly hanging from it, and looked back up at the pair of them as they stepped off the elevator. Steve was suddenly very aware of how dirty his boots seemed against the spotless carpet.

“Bucky, right?” The man pointed at Bucky, who raised an eyebrow in question. “Okay, good. You ready to get started? You can just follow me and- Steve? Is that right? Steve, you can wait here and-“

“Wait a minute,” said Steve, at the exact said time that Bucky muttered, “Is anybody planning to fuckin’ tell us what’s going on here at some point?”

The man had already started walking back towards a hall off the main room. “I- Did Tony not tell you?”

Steve was getting frustrated now. Natasha may be up for all this cloak-and-dagger type bullshit but he sure as hell wasn’t. “Who the hell is Tony?” he demanded. 

The man pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and rubbed hard like he was fighting off a headache. He sighed. “Of course, Tony didn’t tell you. Why would I think that he would ever do things the normal way?” He continued to mutter under his breath as he turned on his heel and strode off down the hall.

They barely had time to blink before yet another man appeared in the room. Like the last one, he was also dark-haired, but that was where the resemblance ended. Where the last man had looked ruffled and put-upon, this one looked confident and self-assured. His dark facial hair formed a perfectly kept goatee and his clothes- jeans and a long-sleeve shirt- were simple but the perfect tailoring of them screamed money in the same way that the entire building did. 

But Steve barely noticed any of that, busy as he was staring at the man’s face. The face that he had seen on magazines almost weekly for at least the last decade. 

“Tony Stark?”

“So they tell me,” he said drily, wasting no time to step right past Steve and look Bucky up and down. Bucky looked so uncomfortable that the only thing stopping Steve from straight up shoving the man aside was that fact that it was Tony freakin’ Stark. 

“Tony Stark,” Steve repeated again, more to himself this time than anything. Natasha had sent him to meet up with Tony Stark, the richest, smartest, and probably craziest man in all of New York if not the entire eastern seaboard. 

Tony continued to ignore him in favor of inspecting Bucky, who looked about two seconds away from wrapping his hands around Tony’s neck. Honestly, Steve wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Bucky bared his teeth and started growling, he looked so murderous. 

Either Tony didn’t notice or his sense of self-preservation was startlingly out of whack. “So you’re a dragon, huh?” The question seemed more to himself than directed at Bucky, who was busy glaring holes in Tony’s head. “Always thought they’d be more… scary. More teeth. Teethier?” He shook his head quickly. “Anyway, doesn’t matter. You ready?”

He made as if to grab a hold of Bucky’s sleeve and finally it seemed to snap the both of them out of whatever fog of confusion they’d been in. “The fuck is going on?” Bucky demanded. 

Steve stepped closer to Bucky, partially blocking him with his body. “Natasha Romanov told us to come here, but she didn’t tell us why. Care to enlighten us?”

“Oh.” Tony looked vaguely disappointed. “She didn’t tell you about the thing?”

“ _No_.” Steve and Bucky answered firmly at the same time. 

Tony pulled a face. “Why does everyone always make me explain things?” He sighed and turned to Steve. “I assume you know who I am given that you said my name about eighty times a few minutes ago.” Steve nodded and he continued, “Well, I’m working on a new project. Carbon-fiber prosthetics. Incredibly advanced. Lighter than anything on the market and twice as flexible without sacrificing any structural integrity.”

Steve really didn’t see where this was going. “Okay?”

Tony looked exasperated now. “So, I need someone to do a field-test of my products and a little red-haired birdy suggested you might be in the market.”

Bucky came to his conclusions a bit quicker than Steve. “You want to make me a fake wing?”

Tony glanced between the two of them, eyebrows raised. “You _do_ need one, right? Hard to tell under all those layers, but our mutual friend gave me the distinct impression you might be a one-winged wonder.”

Bucky really did bare his teeth this time. “Fuck off.”

“Buck,” Steve said, turning to face him fully. His brain had finally caught up and was trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the last thirty minutes or so. “Buck,” he repeated, reaching out and gripping Bucky’s hand in his. He lowered his voice. “This is Tony Stark. If anyone can make a wing to replace the one you lost, it’s probably him.”

Bucky glowered and muttered quietly, “I don’t like being jerked around like this, Steve.”

Steve tried to ignore Tony obviously doing his best to listen in on their conversation. “I know. I don’t either.” He stopped for a moment and thought before continuing. There was a deep, unshakeable part of him that demanded they get in that elevator and go right back home, that nothing was worth this amount of bullshit. But on the other hand, Steve had grown up hearing about the amazing innovations that came from the Stark family, both Tony and his father before him. “But this might actually work.”

Bucky stared at him intensely, searching for something that Steve hoped he could give, confidence maybe, or comfort. “You trust him?”

“No.” Steve had to be honest; Bucky deserved that. “I don’t. But I trust Natasha. And she brought us here.”

Bucky gripped his hand so tightly that Steve felt his bones creak under his skin. “Alright, Stark,” he said abruptly, dropping Steve’s hand and straightening up. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

It only took about fifteen minutes after Tony had led Bucky away for the boredom to set in. Steve was loathe to let Bucky out of his sight in this unfamiliar environment, and it was only his long-standing relationship with Natasha that finally loosened his grip on Bucky’s hand. He ended up pacing back and forth, the thick, springy carpet muffling his footsteps as he traced a path from the elevator to the windows and back again. Eventually though he got tired of pacing and instead found himself investigating the room he was stuck in until Bucky got back and they could get the hell out of here. 

He started with the bookshelves. There were several along one wall, made of dark wood, tall and imposing and filled to bursting with books on every subject under the sun, it seemed like. Steve itched to pull one out, but propriety stopped him from doing so. There were several long, cream-colored couches and an overstuffed armchair with glass end tables scattered between them. Fresh flowers in vases adorned many of the surfaces and Steve couldn’t help but wonder where the hell Tony had gotten fresh flowers in the middle of winter.

He reached out and gingerly cupped a pale orchid in one hand, marveling at the velvet-softness of the petals. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he nearly jumped out his skin when a soft voice said from behind him, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Steve guiltily patted the flower back into place from where he had yanked on it in his surprise before turning to face whoever had spoken. It was a woman, tall and with her strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a smart ponytail. Her impeccably tailored skirt and blouse hugged her slender frame. She held out a delicate hand to him as she said, “Steve Rogers, right? I’m Pepper Potts.”

Steve took her hand and she squeezed his fingers in greeting. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Chuckling, she dropped his hand and said, “Please, just call me Pepper. Ma’am makes me feel like I’m a thousand years old.”

Steve smiled at her, genuine. He had only spent a few moments with her, but it wasn’t hard to get a sense of who she was. He recognized shades of the same soft, feminine touch in the room’s decoration echoed in her appearance. It made much more sense than to believe that Tony was somehow responsible for the décor. “Alright, Pepper,” he said. “And please, call me Steve.”

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, as she guided him to sit on one of the couches.

“No thank you.” He had to restrain from letting the word ma’am slip out again. Years of lectures on politeness by his mother were ingrained far too deep to ignore, it seemed. He thought a few weeks of living with Bucky’s brusqueness might have broken him of it, but even that wasn’t enough to curtail the teachings of Sarah Rogers. 

The thought of Bucky pulled his attention back to the hall that Tony and Bucky had disappeared down. Steve shifted on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable. For all that he was willing to give this a shot, he still didn’t trust Tony, and having Bucky so far out of his eyesight was making him paranoid. Which was ridiculous really, when he thought about it. Bucky was more than capable of handling himself; except when he was sick, or injured, or….

“Steve?” 

Steve whipped his head around so fast it almost made him dizzy. Pepper was giving him a curious look; he got the feeling she it wasn’t the first time she had tried to get his attention. “Sorry,” he said, licking his lips nervously. “Sorry, I just…” He stopped, unsure what exactly he was feeling.

Pepper gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his hands where they lay twisted together in his lap. “You don’t need to worry about him, you know.”

Steve blushed. “I’m not really-“

“I promise,” she continued, ignoring his blustering attempts at saving face. “I know Tony can come off a bit… brash, but he really does mean well.”

Steve studied her face, looking for any signs of dishonesty, but the look she gave him in return was open and genuine. “Why is he doing this? He’s a household name, I can’t image the kind of resources he must have. Why Bucky?”

To her credit, Pepper seemed to take a moment to really think through the question. “Tony’s not the kind of person who can settle for making something good. He has to make it great, has to make inventions that go above and beyond.”

“So that’s what he’s doing? Using Bucky to prove he can make something like that?”

Pepper sighed. “I don’t think he sees it as using your friend at all. I think Tony just saw a situation that could be mutually beneficial for the both of them. He gets to put his tech to the ultimate test and your friend gets a new wing.”

Steve bit his lip before deciding to go all in. “And the fact that he’s helping a dragon? He’s fine with that? And what about you? You seem very comfortable with the idea.”

“I suppose you could call Tony an idealist, in a strange way. He doesn’t care about that sort of thing, if it’ll help advance his ideas.”

Steve swallowed the bitter taste at the back of his throat. “And if helping Bucky wasn’t to his advantage?”

“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression, Steve,” Pepper said carefully, eyes earnest. “You and your friend have nothing to worry about. Even if this experiment doesn’t work, Tony won’t turn him in.”

He leveled a long, hard look at her. She met it, unflinching. “And you?”

She smiled, reassuring. “My only concern is Tony. Not what other people choose to do with their lives.”

* * *

The silence stretched for three city blocks before Steve just can’t take it anymore. “What the hell just happened?”

Bucky gave a harsh bark of laughter, muffled underneath his thick scarf. “Fuck if I know. I got humans helping me, letting me live with them, making me a goddamn _wing_.” He made a noise of disbelief. “I haven’t known what was going on for weeks. This is a weird fuckin’ city.”

Steve eyed him. “Maybe we’re just good people,” he offered. 

“No such thing,” Bucky said. One glance at Steve’s raised eyebrow and he amended his statement. “Fine, I guess there’s a few of you that aren’t so bad. But as a whole, I’m still not impressed with humanity.”

“That’s fair.”

Steve wasn’t sure that was something he would have agreed with before meeting Bucky, but the last few weeks had done a lot to open his eyes to things he had only ever suspected before. “Do you think SHIELD will survive this?”

Bucky snorted. “Who cares?”

“I do,” Steve said quietly. “I know Nat does, and Sam too. It wasn’t always like this.”

“Maybe it was, and you just didn’t notice.”

Steve winced, unable to argue. It was true; a lot had been happening practically under his unsuspecting nose. But being the truth didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. 

“Well, in a few days it’s not going to matter anyway,” Bucky continued. “Tony said with the measurements he got today, he can have the wing done by tomorrow.

“And then?”

Bucky gave him an incredulous look. “What do you mean _and then_? I’m going to kill Pierce. You know this.”

Steve winced. “I just-“

“Jesus, Steve!” Bucky stopped abruptly and Steve stumbled trying to adjust. The look Bucky gave him was cold. “You _are_ going to help me, right?”

Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. His stomach churned. “Yes, I just- It’s a lot to work through, Bucky. I’m having a hard time.”

“You know what SHIELD is doing is wrong,” Bucky hissed, lowering his voice as a man on his phone passed by them on the sidewalk. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out on this now.”

“I’m _not_.”

“You need to pick a side.”

“I have!” Steve said. He reached out and gripped Bucky’s gloved hand in his. To his relief, Bucky didn’t immediately pull away. “I’m on your side.”

“Are you?” Bucky yanked his hand from Steve’s grip. “Because I get the feeling you’re changing your mind.”

“I’m not,” Steve repeated. His face felt hot, his eyes swollen. When the hell had that happened? He took a deep, steadying breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them, all he could see was Bucky, wrapped in Steve’s jacket and scarf, snowflakes melting in his hair. Only his eyes showed what he was, icy blue and terrifying. “I’m not. It’s just hard, Bucky. SHIELD is my family, no matter what Alexander Pierce has done. I just want to save it.”

Bucky held his gaze for an unbearably long second and then, just like that, he relaxed. The startling blue of his eyes seemed to dull in intensity and the pupils widened out to a more human look. “We will. I promise, Steve. I’ll help you save your family, but please, help me avenge mine.”

Steve nodded, tears stinging against the back of his eyelids in earnest now. Before he could say anything more, Bucky engulfed him in a hug, warming Steve from the outside in. Steve kissed everywhere he could reach: his ear, his shoulder, the soft, fine hairs on his neck and the scratchy stubble on his chin. And if a few of his tears ended up soaking into the collar of Bucky’s shirt, well that was nobody’s business but theirs.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a chip in the polish of Fury’s desk. Steve was almost certain it hadn’t been there the last time he’d been in Fury’s office. Or had it? He couldn’t remember; the conversation in question could have been last week or last year- it all felt as equally distant. Steve eyed the imperfection in the varnished wood and wondered how it had gotten there. Probably didn’t matter. He could feel Fury’s intensity even from across the desk, his singular eye boring holes in Steve’s chest. He forced his eyes up and away from the desk to meet Fury’s. 

“I’m unhappy, Rogers.”

“I know, sir.” Steve snapped into parade rest, hands clasped loosely behind his back, hoping he appeared calmer than he actually was. He could feel sweat under the collar of his shirt. Natasha had told him once he was a terrible liar and it seemed he was doing his best to prove her absolutely right. 

“Do you know why I’m unhappy?”

If nothing else, at least he still had the ability to sense a rhetorical question. Steve stayed silent.

“I’m unhappy,” Fury continued, “because one of my best agents has apparently gone off the rails. Where were you this past week, Rogers?”

“Sick.” It sounded false, even to his own ears.

“Huh.” Fury didn’t look convinced; Steve didn’t blame him. “And were you, or were you not, involved in a rougarou attack last week?”

“I was.”

“So then tell me why not only do I _not_ have any kind of report from you about the incident, but I _do_ have an eyewitness statement of you in the company of a known creature healer?”

Steve swallowed thickly. That was more than he’d thought Fury knew. “Welfare check, sir,” he said stiffly. “And I’m sorry about the paperwork. Won’t happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t, because I’m putting you on desk duty until you figure out how to be a competent agent again.” Steve blinked, surprised. “And Rogers? I don’t need you doing welfare checks on cases that don’t belong to you. We don’t need that kind of trouble right now.”

The look he gave Steve was inscrutable. Steve hesitated while the silence in the room grew tense. Fury opened his mouth to speak. Steve knew a dismissal when he saw one and realized that his window of opportunity to get information was rapidly diminishing. How much did Fury know? How much did he suspect? At the last second, Steve decided to trust his gut; that Fury was not the real enemy.

“About that healer, sir.”

Fury pursed his lips, looking annoyed at being cut off. “The Maximoff girl?”

Steve nodded. “I spoke to her. She said that her brother was being held by us. Do you know what the charges are?”

Fury’s eye narrowed. “The boy was brought in by Rumlow, under Pierce’s orders. You want to know, you’ll have to ask him.”

Steve nodded, sensing the finality in Fury’s tone. If he wanted more information, he wasn’t going to get it here. “Thank you, sir.”

“Report to Hill in the morning for your new assignment,” Fury said, as Steve turned to leave. He was almost out the door when he heard, “Oh, and Rogers, on your way out, make sure you don’t take the east stairwell, sublevel five. This time of day, it’d just be you and the prisoners, what with shift change and all. Wouldn’t want that.”

Steve glanced back in surprise, but Fury was already turned back to his computer. “Noted, sir.”

* * *

He had intended to go to the locker room after his meeting with Fury, hoping to catch Natasha or Sam. More than anything, he could use the sight of a friendly face right. Not that Bucky wasn’t enough; but it was different with Sam and Nat. They knew him, knew SHIELD. To Bucky, what was happening was a comeuppance, but to Steve it felt like a loss. He knew Bucky didn’t hold that against him, but he also didn’t understand it. 

But now, Steve had a new mission in mind. Fury was right; for all the odd hours that agents worked, the headquarters still shut down at night. He had gone to meet Fury at the end of the work day, when everyone was leaving, and now that rush had died down. The hallways were quiet, offices dark. The low hum of electronics seemed louder without the noises of people working to cover it.

His footsteps rang out in the empty corridor. Most people never saw the sublevels of SHIELD; hell, even Steve didn’t come down here all that often, busy as he was with cases. Most of his work had him out on the streets, and that was fine with him. It made the desk duty in his future all that much worse; he had never been built to stay still for long. Then again, he thought darkly, after all this was over there might not be a SHIELD to do desk work for.

More than once he got turned around in the maze of hallways, but finally he reached a door he recognized. Beyond it, he knew, was a temporary holding area for detainees. Pierce’s taskforce must have commandeered it as their own. The heavy steel was as intimidating as the sign on it marked ‘Security Level 4 and above only’. As an agent in good standing that had worked at the agency for the better part of a decade, Steve himself had security level 3 clearance, not that that he had much cause to use when he spent most of his day out patrolling. He held his ID with its embedded security chip up against the scanner next to the door. Nothing happened, the light on the scanner remained red.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows and inspected his ID. It looked the same, and besides, it wasn’t like it was ever not on him, so there was no way it could have been tampered with. He pressed the card up against the scanner again, and again there was no change. The light remained red and the door stayed locked. Frustrated he leaned all his weight on the handle of the door. It didn’t budge an inch- not that he had expected to. There was no reason his card wouldn’t be working. His security clearance hadn’t changed. So it was something else. There was something behind this door that Pierce didn’t want to be seen.

Frustrated, he banged a fist against the door. The dull thud echoed in the empty corridor. There were answers behind that door; the cause of all SHIELD’s sickness _and he couldn’t get to it._ The jumbled thoughts in his head coalesced and became sharp and clear. He had spent all this time talking about SHIELD’s corruption but until he came up against the solid steel evidence it hadn’t truly clicked. And now that it had?

_Steve was fucking pissed._

Again and again he slammed his hands against the door. It held strong and the only thing he got for his efforts was a sharp stinging sensation in his palms and numbness in his fingers. At the last second he caught the scream of rage that had been boiling up from his gut before it could get out. He was suddenly all too aware of the silence of the hall. What the hell was he doing? The voice in his head sounded oddly like Bucky’s. _It’s like you want to get caught, you idiot._

The image of Bucky was so strong in his head that he almost argued back. Of course he didn’t want to get caught. The last thing they needed was Pierce getting word that he was snooping around, if he hadn’t already. It wouldn’t be surprising. God, he’d been stupid, giving in to a temper tantrum like a damn toddler. Definitely time to go. 

“Agent Rogers, how nice to see you.”

As if thinking had summoned him, Alexander Pierce came strolling around the corner. He was dressed nicely, in a tailored three-piece dark suit that complimented his silvery hair perfectly. The lapels of his jacket were crisp and his tie was a deep red; immediately Steve thought of drops of blood on white snow, of Bucky’s pale face, and shivered. He forced his eyes upwards to meet Pierce’s steely ones.

“Evening, Director Pierce.”

“I thought I heard some noise coming from this direction. Sounded like someone trying to break down a door. You wouldn’t happen to know what that was, would you, Agent?” Pierce tilted his head in a mockery of concern. 

“No sir, I don’t,” said Steve coldly. “I was just looking for something. Must’ve gotten turned around. It’s like a maze down here.”

Pierce smiled, and while before he might now have seen it, to Steve now it looked calculated, disarming. “Must have,” he agreed, voice light and friendly. If he was upset or surprised to see Steve down here, than he wasn’t showing it. “Maybe we should put up some signs. I would hate to lose such a good agent that way.”

* * *

It was snowing again as he walked home, little flakes that dust his hair and the shoulders of his jacket. It’s nice, the last bit of light fading from the city, streetlamps flickering on, catching the path of the flakes as they float down from the sky. Peaceful, even. The weather does a bit to calm the storm raging in Steve’s belly, and for that he’s thankful. It’s much easier to be rational when he isn’t angry.

He’d already decided to keep the last hour’s adventure to himself; he already knew what Bucky’s reaction would be: concern and then anger. He’d be right to be angry, Steve could admit that. He was careless and had let his frustration overwhelm his good sense, but that doesn’t mean that he’s in the mood to listen to Bucky berate him, however deserved it might be. 

He still felt guilty thought, and that was probably what drove his next decision. There was a little thrift shop that’s not too far out on the way on his walk home. He’d been going to it forever, enough that the little old lady who owns it and her teenage grandson who works the counter on weekends both know him by name. He’s always felt a draw toward old things; they’re like a piece out of time, a snapshot of the world as it was. The world today didn’t do enough remembering, in Steve’s opinion. Always rushing towards the next big thing without looking back at what could be learned from the past.

When he ducked in the door, a warm blast of air hitting him from the heated interior of the shop, he didn’t have anything particular in mind. Steve wandered the aisles of the cramped storefront. Shelves stacked to the ceiling with odds and ends surrounded him. Nothing was organized; a vintage typewriter sat next to an old tea-kettle, while a tarnished silver candlestick was kept company by a lacy, yellowing bridal veil. The whole place had an air of comfort, like slipping into a pair of broken-in shoes.

He thought of nothing in particular as he wandered, the cool twilight time and familiar, musty smell of the shop lulling him into a calmer state. Before long, he hit the back wall of the shop, lined with old chests with rusty locks and chairs in need of a good coat of paint. He turned back, already lamenting the loss of the calming atmosphere as he anticipated the rest of his night, when something caught his eye. 

Tucked on the very end of a shelf, next to an antique hatbox, was a small wooden box filled with colorful pieces of something. He realized as he stepped closer that the box was full of sea glass. Steve had never been to the ocean himself, but growing up his mother had shown him a piece from a trip to the beach she had taken as a girl. The whole lot was a beautiful mess of blues and greens and browns with the occasional orange and yellow thrown in. 

It was perfect. 

Steve didn’t even stop to think about it. He scooped up the box and all its contents, hurrying back to the register. Once had had paid, he returned to the street. Dark had fallen properly while he’d been wandering and the light snow had stopped. The small amount that had fallen was just enough to cover everything with a fresh new coating, making the city pristine, only his own footprints to mar the even surface.

By the time he got back to his apartment, he had almost completely forgotten about his conversation with Fury and his unexpected encounter with Pierce. Feeling lighter than he had in a long time, Steve bounded up the stairs and into the door. Bucky was lying on the couch, bare feet hanging over one armrest and head cushioned on the other, a thick book held inches in front of his nose. Steve bypassed his usual ritual of removing his shoes and outerware, opting instead to rush over to the couch, where he swooped in and pushed the book aside, dropping a kiss squarely onto Bucky’s lips.

Bucky made a noise of surprise, his eyes wide, but quickly they softened and slid closed as he returned the kiss in earnest. Steve leaned in to him as Bucky wrapped a hand possessively around the back of Steve’s neck, his palm like fire where it touched Steve’s skin. Reluctantly, Steve broke the kiss off, breathing deep and relishing the scent that was so very _Bucky_ ; old books and mint toothpaste and just the tiniest hint of wood smoke. 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, but there was no venom in the expression. “You’re in a good mood. What did you do?”

Steve snorted and cross the room, dropping lightly into the armchair. He tugged off one boot as he said, “Why do you automatically assume I’ve done something?”

“Because I know you.” Bucky squinted even further, inspecting Steve closely from his vantage point on the couch. “Seriously, what’s up. You’ve had this look all week like the sky is falling in and tonight you come in practically shooting rainbows out your ass.”

He dropped his other shoe on the floor and began working on the buttons of his coat. “What, you never just been in a good mood for no reason?”

“No.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. He picked up the bag and wiggled it in front of him. “I got you something.”

“Now I’m _really_ convinced you did something.”

“Shut up and look at your present.”

He grinned as Bucky reached over and pulled the back out of his hands. He handled it gently, like he suspected it might explode; Steve would be offended if he wasn’t so amused. Cautiously, Bucky peered into the back. For just a split second, his eyes widened before he seemed to school his expression into something more neutral.

“What’s this for,” Bucky asked cautiously, withdrawing the box and setting it in his lap. His fingers twitched over the rounded, colorful bits of glass, like he longed to touch it but couldn’t quite give himself permission.

“It’s for you,” Steve replied. “I thought you might like it for, you know, your collection.” He gestured toward the closet and Bucky’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Hey!” Steve exclaimed, heading off an accusation before it could start. “It’s not a joke, I swear. I saw it and thought of you, that’s all.”

“You thought of me?” Bucky reached out one finger hesitantly and stroked a piece of light blue glass; it was almost the color of Bucky’s eyes when they changed, Steve thought, but flatter, less vibrant than the riotous shades of Bucky’s eyes.

“Yeah,” said Steve, enraptured by the look of wonder slowly creeping across Bucky’s face. For the time being, Bucky had dropped his cool, collected mask and the pure expression on his face was one of the most beautiful sights Steve had ever seen. 

Emboldened now, Bucky plunged both hands into the pile, letting pieces of bright glass trickle down from his fingers with a gentle clinking sound. His eyes, when they finally turned upward and met Steve’s, were full of emotion, on the brink of something Steve couldn’t have named if he tried. Not tears- that wasn’t like Bucky at all- but something else, something wholly unique to him. 

He didn’t have any more time to wax poetic. Bucky moved with a speed that was still alarming, even now, and Steve suddenly found himself with a lapful of emotional, burning hot dragon. Bucky kissed him, and it was impatient and rough and so, so perfect. Their noses bumped for a minute before Steve got his bearing, tipping his head for a better angle. Bucky’s lips were soft and pliant and his hair tickled where it brushed against Steve’s face.

Steve broke off for a second, panting, as he said, “If I’d known it would get this kind of reaction, I would’ve started you buying you stuff a long time ago.”

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky growled, before making sure Steve did exactly that. 

Steve managed a muffled sound of argument and Bucky growled again, the vibration dancing along Steve’s jawbone. He moaned, which only seemed to spur Bucky on. At the first touch of tongue against his lips, Steve opened his mouth eagerly. Bucky shifted on his lap and the movement sent a jolt of pleasure straight through Steve’s spine.

And then, of course, the phone rang.

Steve’s eyes snapped open automatically as he searched the room by for his phone by sight. There it was, sitting on the coffee table, buzzing cheerfully against the wood. Before it started the second ring, his vision went dark. Steve panicked in the split second it took him to recognize the feel of Bucky’s hand on his face; the bastard had slapped his palm down over Steve’s eyes.

“No,” Bucky said forcefully, pulling away from Steve’s lips just enough to speak. His breath was hot on Steve’s mouth. “Don’t even think about answering that. We’re busy.”

Finally, an order Steve had absolutely no problems. He surged forward to kiss Bucky again instead of answering. He felt Bucky give him a smugly satisfied smile and Steve, never one to back down from a challenge, leaned forward and nipped Bucky playfully on the lip. 

“Oh really?” Bucky leaned back in earnest this time, one eyebrow raised. “That’s how you wanna do this?” He grinned wolfishly, and the edges of his teeth, sharper than any natural human teeth, gleamed viciously. And then-

“Goddamnit!” Bucky cursed as the phone let off three successive chimes. Text messages. Reluctantly, he stood, the sudden lack of Bucky in Steve’s lap leaving him cold and bereft. “The world better be fuckin’ ending or I’m gonna be pissed.”

Steve stood as well, furtively adjusting his jeans as he did so, equally as disappointed at the sudden end of what had been a perfectly wonderful makeout session. Well, no reason they couldn’t continue it in a minute. Curious, he plucked the phone off the table and tapped the screen. He read, doing his best to ignore Bucky grumbling to himself under his breath. After he finished, he scanned the messages again, just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” he said, grinning. “No world-ending events today. Would you settle for a new wing?”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly before he managed to curtail the expression. “Tony?”

“Tony.”

* * *

Bucky was nearly buzzing out of his skin with- well, Steve didn’t know whether it was excitement, anticipation, nervousness, or a mix of all three. 

“This will work?” he asked for what to be at least the tenth time in the last hour.

Tony, with air of a long-suffering man, said, “Of course it will. I made it. Everything I make works.”

The other dark-haired man, the one they had met last time whose name Steve now knew was Bruce, made a very distinctive noise of amusement from somewhere behind Bucky’s left shoulder where he was doing something very delicate and very bloody with the remaining pieces of Bucky’s left wing. Steve had declined to watch that particular part and was instead sitting off to one side, holding Bucky’s right hand, and if allowing Steve to hold his hand in front of two men who were practically strangers didn’t say how nervous Bucky really was, then nothing would.

Tony looked up from his computer, which was covered with complicated looking charts, long enough to glare in the general direction of Bruce’s voice. “May I remind everyone present that we are in fact in _my_ lab, in _my_ house, so _I’m_ in charge and I say _no laughing at the man in charge_.” He hesitated a moment, as if thinking his words over and then amended, ”And please, no one tell Pepper that I said I’m in charge.”

“Done,” Bruce interjected, probably for the best. 

“It’s finished?” Bucky craned his head around, trying to look over his left shoulder. “Steve, how’s it look?”

At the question, Steve leaned over to get his first really good look at the men’s work. It wasn’t that he was queasy around blood- that much he had proven wasn’t true at all- it was just that he was uneasy being around so much of Bucky’s blood. Too many bad memories, he supposed. But Bruce had already done cleanup, and Steve loved him for it.

The skin on Bucky’s shoulder still had the mottled, faded scars but now, right around where the wing sprouted from his back, it was surrounded by new, pink skin. The metal of the wing sprouting out of it reminded Steve of a the twisting roots of a tree. Tony’s work was- there was no other word for – beautiful. Intricate beyond belief and fully functional, as Tony himself had assured Bucky over and over again. Steve put a hesitant finger to the new skin covering old wounds.

“How have I not heard of this before?” He twisted around to ask Bruce, who was standing to the side, arms crossed and looking tired. While Tony had designed and created every last bit of the wing itself, Bruce’s job had been the attachment itself. Tony himself had said, _‘I’m great with machines. Actual people, ugh or dragons I guess, not so much’._

And while Steve found the machinery fascinating, it was Bruce’s work that really drew him in. “Instant skin regeneration,” he murmured. If not for the old scars surrounding it, Steve never would have guess that there had been any sort of injury at all. “Do you know you hospitals could do with this?”

“I do,” Bruce sighed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Try telling that to the FDA.”

“Hmmm.” Steve let his fingers fall away. “That’s too bad.”

Bucky, who had apparently had enough of the current conversation, cut in, “Enough looking, Steve. How is it?”

“Incredible.”

“Really?” Bucky craned his neck harder in an attempt to see everything. 

“How about this?” Tony said, clapping his hands together. “Less talking, more testing out how awesome my invention is?”

That statement took them back out of the lab and into the elevator. Tony directed the AI (another mystery from their first visit solved) to take them down. It wasn’t long before Steve noticed that by down apparently really meant _down_. The elevator had been traveling for just long enough that Steve started getting truly concerned when they slowed to a stop and a smooth British voice informed them they’d arrived.

“How far underground-“

The words faded from his lips as they exited the elevator. They were in what could only be described as an underground hangar minus the planes. The room- and Steve hesitated to call such a massive space a room- was huge, at several football fields in length. The ceiling reached up high enough to confirm his suspicion at how far underground they must be. The walls were smooth gray concrete and the floor was covered with some kind of springy mat. 

“For crash landings,” Tony confirmed, watching Steve press curiously down with his shoe. “I do a lot of my testing for various, uh, _projects_ down here. 

“This is-“ Steve said, at a loss for words. “How were you able to build this?”

Tony tossed him a shit-eating grin and turned away. Bucky was staring up at the ceiling, an uncertain expression on his face. His shoulders were tense. He was shirtless and Steve could see the way his the muscles of his back were clenched, the ripples under his skin as his wings shifted minutely from where they lay folded. 

Even looking at the evidence in front of him, Steve had trouble believing it. The metal wing was as intricate as the one opposing it, every shape and form traced meticulously in silver, the metal hammered so thin in some places that it looked like tissue paper, though Tony had assured them it had all the tensile strength it needed to function. Bruce’s work was astounding too. Not only the seamless grafting of the wing onto Bucky’s body but the connection of the nerves as well. It had hurt, that much was obvious, but Bucky had gritted his teeth and gotten through it, and the result was a wing that responded exactly the same as the natural one. Steve was in awe. 

Bucky though, looked sick. 

“Hey,” Steve said quietly, leaning in close to keep their words as private as possible. “You okay?”

Bucky licked his lips and glanced upward. “Nervous.”

“You?” Steve nudged him playfully. “Say it ain’t so.”

“Shut up, punk. I haven’t flown in a long time. What if…” He trailed off, swallowing heavily.

Steve leaned in more, so they were pressed together shoulder to shoulder. “Hey,” he said, “you’re gonna be fine. Tony and Bruce made the thing, but it’s nothing without you to use it. Go and show ‘em how lucky they are to be part of this.”

Bucky turned his head quickly and caught Steve in a kiss. “You’re an asshole,” he muttered, forehead pressed to Steve’s. 

“Only when you deserve it. Jerk.”

Bucky pinched his side hard, but he was off and running before Steve had time to react. All three men watched in silence as Bucky ran, the sound of his feet slapping against the soft ground the only noise. And then without warning, Bucky launched himself into the air, at the same time unfurling his wings. The metal caught the light, flashing brilliantly as the plates that made up the wing shivered and shifted. And just like, Bucky was airborne. 

Steve felt his breath catch his throat, the feeling indescribable. Up in the air, Bucky laughed in delight and then let out a whoop of excitement as he made a sharp turn in the air. Steve had never heard him sound so happy. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Bucky, happy and laughing, looked like he was finally where he belonged. It was like he’d been walking around half-dead and now he was alive again. Seeing it, Steve felt a sudden wave of anguish as he realized how incomplete Bucky must have felt. 

Behind him, Tony and Bruce were talking animatedly. Their conversation was laden with technical terms and measurements, already considering improvements that could be made and additions that could be added. Steve tuned them out; the only thing he was concerned with was right in front of him, grinning from ear-to-ear and making lazy loop-de-loops in the air. From high up, Bucky caught Steve’s eyes and waved. Steve waved back and Bucky tucked his wings in close to his body, angled downwards, and was suddenly rushing toward Steve with an unimaginable speed. 

Steve let out a strangled shout of alarm as Bucky approached, looking like he was about to slam into the ground. Soft as it might be, at the speed he was going, he could snap his neck. But then, in one fluid movement, Bucky righted himself, wings furling closed as his feet touched the ground lightly.

“Oh my god,” Steve said and launched himself at Bucky, wrapping his arms around his neck and hugging hard. “That was amazing,” he said, lips pressed to Bucky’s hair. 

He felt more than heard Bucky laugh. “Thank you.”

Steve pulled back and put his hands on Bucky’s forearms, looking at him seriously. “I didn’t do this.”

“Yes, you did. If I hadn’t met you, none of this would have happened.”

Steve put a hand to Bucky’s cheek and stroked slowly with his thumb. “It would have. One way or another. Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s Tony and Bruce you really have to thank.”

Glancing over Steve’s shoulder to where the two men were now bent over a notepad, scrawling complicated looking equations, he pursed his lips. “Bruce, yes. But Tony?”

Steve laughed. “Come on,” he said, turning and pulling Bucky along with him. “I’m sure he’ll only gloat for the next thirty years.”

* * *

It had been late when Steve had gotten home from work, and even later when they’d finally arrived at Tony’s. Between the actual procedure itself and everything that followed, by the time they left it was well past midnight. One looked at the doorman (whose name was, ironically, Happy) and they had declined a ride back to Steve’s apartment. It looked like his doorman was just as exhausted by Tony as they were. 

It wasn’t snowing, or even windy, but somehow the air felt all the colder. Steve shivered and wrapped his scarf more firmly around his neck, tugging it up to cover most of his chin and nose. Beside him, Bucky was still riding the high of flying again; he seemed lighter than since Steve had met him and a faint smile still lingered as his face. As Steve watched, the smile faded and his eyes turned hard and cold. 

“I can do it now.”

“Do what?” Steve asked, even though he already knew. It was silly, feigning ignorance, as if that would change anything. In the end, they would still be tearing down the organization he knew as family and risking the lives of the one he loved in the process. 

“Pierce.” Bucky’s voice was cold, his eyes hard and staring straight ahead. “I’m healthy. I’m myself, for the first time in a long time, Steve. I didn’t know what I was waiting for before, but this was it. I’m ready.”

“Then I’m ready too.”

Steve’s voice was quiet but completely steady. Bucky looked at over at him as they walked side by side through the freezing night. “Steve, you know I-“ He paused for just a second and then finished, “-we’re being followed.”

He said it calmly, the same way one might remark on the weather, only the slight flare of his nostrils giving any indication that something might be wrong. With the steadiness born of long practice, Steve kept his gaze perfectly ahead, his gait steady. “How many?”

Bucky considered for a minute, reaching up and tugging the scarf off his face. “At least three. Maybe more.”

Three, possible more. Dozens of possibilities flashed through Steve’s mind in an instant. They could turn and fight, but what if there were more of them? What if they had weapons? Not to mention, even with Bucky back up to full fighting strength, was it worth it to risk exposing him for what he was in the middle of the street, no matter how late at night it happened to be? “What’s the plan?”

“You know the city better than I do,” Bucky replied. He was subtly rolling his shoulders, shaking out stiffness from his limbs. “Any ideas?”

Steve glanced around. He walked this way twice a day during the week, and even under the darkness of night, he could find his way around. He could only hope their followers couldn’t say the same. “Up ahead. There’s a sign for a bookstore. See it?” He waited for the slight tilt of Bucky’s head. “There’s an alley behind it that lets out a street over. It could work.”

Bucky nodded again, the movement almost imperceptible. He cracked his knuckles as he said, “On three? One, two-“

On three, they broke into a run. After a few feet they hit a particularly icy patch of sidewalk and for one heart-stopping moment it seemed like Bucky might lose his footing. On instinct, Steve reached out and grabbed at the fabric of Bucky’s jacket, snagging it in one fist as he pulled him along. Bucky managed to get his feet back under him and they sprinted with renewed vigor towards their goal. 

Steve could just barely hear the men following them over the sounds of their feet slapping the pavement and his own breath harsh in ears. He chanced a peek over one shoulder, praying as he did so that they wouldn’t hit any more rough spots on the ground. 

His heart sank at what he saw. SHIELD uniforms. More than three. He counted at least five before turning his attention back to the street in front of him. No wonder Bucky had been unable to tell how many there were just from listening. If they were dealing with trained SHIELD agents, this changed things. Mainly, how likely they were to get out of this without some kind of confrontation. 

“It’s SHIELD,” he panted as his feet flew over the pavement.

“Any chance,” Bucky huffed out, “that they just want to talk?”

“Doubt it,” Steve replied grimly. 

The alley was just in front of them now. All of Steve’s attention was on the next step, the next second, as they skidded around the corner. So much so, that it took him a moment to realize that Bucky wasn’t beside him anymore. 

“Bucky!” he shouted as he whipped around, fearing the worst. But there he was, just at the mouth of the alley. He was staring at Steve, the look on his face full of regret. “What the hell are you doing? We have to go!”

“I love you,” Bucky said, and the look on his face was one of anguish. 

“What-“

“I’m sorry,” he said and then, inexplicably, he launched himself at Steve. There was a brief moment of confusion, almost like he was suspended in time, before everything went black.


	9. Chapter 9

His head _hurt_.

For a while, that was the only thing he knew. Gradually, other sensations began to creep in: the wet chill of his clothes, the stink of the alley, the sharp bite of the wind. But above all was the pain in his head. Slowly, Steve cranked an eye open. He was still in the alley, but something was missing. He was sure of it, but his head ached like he’d taken a sledgehammer to the skull. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from his mind. There was still something he was forgetting, but every time he came close to putting his finger on it, it escaped like water trickling from cupped hands.

Closing his eyes again, Steve took a deep breath. _Pull it together. Start with what you know_. He opened his eyes again and ignored the pain that lanced through his head like a bolt of lightning. He was sitting on the ground, legs stretched out in front of him and pants soaked through with melted snow. Using the rough brick wall behind him, he pushed himself up to a standing position. Wobbling a little, he looked around. 

_That was odd_.

He was behind a dumpster, which accounted for the smell invading his nostrils. But how did he get there? Steve tried hard to retrace his steps. He had gone into the alley for some reason. He remembered running, turning and seeing Bucky racing toward him, and then-

“Fuck!”

Bucky. He had forgotten Bucky. With that single revelation, everything came rushing back. Tony and the new wing, the walk home, being followed by SHIELD agents and running into this alley. As he looked around again, there was a sight that made him freeze. There was blood on the ground and staring at it, Steve cursed again as the realization of what had happened hit him. Bucky had said he was sorry and then rushed him, must have knocked him over the head and dragged him behind that dumpster. He had chosen to face down armed SHIELD agents by himself instead of letting Steve fight by his side. 

_That fucking idiot_.

Steve was angry. Beyond angry, actually, edging into furious. Bucky might have meant well, but it hadn’t been his decision to make. By knocking him out, he had made Steve’s choice for him, and if there was one thing Steve hated, it was being left out of the fight. 

Well, fuck that. 

Steve groped blindly at his pocket, digging for his phone. The screen showed just after two in the morning. So he had been out almost an hour and a half. The numbers on the screen seemed to jump around before he realized that it was his hand that was shaking. It was hard to think, hard to feel past the words screaming through his mind: _get to Bucky!_

His feet were moving, a flat-out sprint through the dark streets as a plan formed in his mind. SHIELD. That had to be where they were. He immediately conjured up the image of the sublevel, a locked door and Pierce’s smug face. It was the only thing that made sense; a place that was secure, where no one would question a group of agents with an injured creature. His fists clenched involuntarily as he thought about it. There had been blood. One of them had injured Bucky.

And Steve was going to hurt whoever had done it.

The cold air burned his lungs as he ran. That combined with the frigid air against his face, and adrenaline pumping through his veins did wonders for clearing away the fog in his mind. Pain burst behind his eyes with every jolt, but he willed himself to move past it. There were more important things right now than how he felt. He knew he would fight to the end for Bucky, injuries be damned. He didn’t want to think about what kind of chance just the two of them would stand. And like a lightbulb had gone off in his head, Steve realized that he was wrong. 

It didn’t have to be just the two of them.

Without breaking stride, Steve pulled out his phone and dialed a number. A voice picked up after one ring, sounding alert despite the late hour. 

“What’s going on, Steve?”

“Need your help, Nat,” Steve panted into the phone. “Pierce has Bucky. I’m getting him back.”

Natasha didn’t hesitate, didn’t question him, and Steve loved her for it. “Where?”

“SHIELD headquarters. On my way there now.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll call Sam, too.”

“Bring every weapon you’ve got, Nat.”

He could hear the fleeting smile in her voice. “Always do. Be safe, Steve. Don’t die until I get there.”

Despite the situation, or maybe because of it, he let out a hysterical laugh. “I’ll try not to,” he said, and then let the phone drop to his side as the call disconnected. He would have to do something for Natasha, and Sam too, if they made it out of this. Something big. Didn’t matter what.

But that would have to wait until they all made it out alive.

* * *

Getting back to SHIELD took longer than it should. Every few minutes, Steve had to stop and press his hands hard against his temples, trying in vain to stem the waves of pain rolling through him. At one point, he even had to stop to vomit, the running and the pain and the adrenaline all combining in his stomach to produce the worst kind of nausea. He was cold to begin, but now he’s freezing. Winter clothes don’t do so much for warmth when they’re wet from lying in the snow. The damp fabric chafes his skin raw, as if to add insult to injury. 

By the time the building was in sight, dark and looming over the street below, everything hurt. It felt almost as if the pain behind his eyes had trickled down to infect every last joint in his body. He would vomit again, but his stomach was blessedly empty. And besides, now that he was there, staring down the entrance, none of that mattered. Bucky was in there, and Steve would withstand pain ten times as bad as this if it meant keeping Bucky safe. 

He had no plan. No great inspiration had come to him during his run. Not that he’d thought it anything would, but it would be nice to have _something_. 

He took stock of what he _did_ have. His gun, secure in it’s holster on his hip, three knives, one tucked at his belt and two secured hidden in his boots. _A gun and three knives_. He wondered how many agents were in the building, how many Pierce had recruited to his cause. How deep did the corruption of SHIELD go?

There was nothing left to do but find out for himself. 

The sudden screech of brakes on pavement shattered the stillness of the night. Steve spun around, drawing his gun in one fluid motion and raising it up, pointing it at the new arrival. He blinked and lowered the gun partially, and then all the way as he recognized the van. It beat up, more dents and dings than Steve could count, and the entire thing was painted an extraordinally ugly shade of puke green. As he watched, the doors slid open to reveal three occupants. 

“Steve!” Clint called as he killed the engine. “I hear you’re in the need of some rescuing.”

Sam and Natasha were already by his side. Steve couldn’t think of a time when he’d ever been happier to see them in his life. Clint, too, for that matter. He was just as capable as any agent, probably more than some even, and if it weren’t for Pierce he would’ve had the chance. But as glad as he was to have his friends, there was something he needed to say. 

“Listen,” he said seriously, once Clint had joined them. He locked eyes with each of them in turn. Under the streetlights, their pupils danced with an otherworldly light. “This is my fight, and Bucky’s, but it’s not yours. Pierce is dangerous, and I doubt he’ll hesitate to kill any of us and pass it off as an accident. I signed up for this when I took Bucky in, but you didn’t and I know it’s not fair to ask you to risk your lives. If anyone wants to back out, it’s okay.”

There was silence for a moment, and then-

“Twenty bucks.” Natasha held a hand out to Sam, who slapped a bill down on it while grumbling under his breath. She turned back to Steve. “I bet Sam you couldn’t make it five minutes without some big, heroic speech. He should’ve known not to bet against a sure thing.”

“I’m being serious,” Steve argued. In return, he got three impressively coordinated eye-rolls. 

“We’re with you on this one, man,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “You’ve got to be nearly as stupid as me if you think any of us would let you go in there without backup.”

Natasha bumped him roughly with one slender shoulder. “Idiot isn’t a good look on you, Rogers.”

Steve’s throat felt suddenly tight, and in that moment he realized that he loved these people fiercely. He would do anything for them, and it seemed the feeling was mutual. “Thank you,” he said quietly. There was no need for conversation after that. 

Following Natasha’s lead, they crept around the building to a side door. “The alarm?” Steve asked her as she dropped to one knee to work on the lock. 

“Hasn’t worked on this door for months,” she replied. “SHIELD can save the world, but can’t get a damn alarm fixed. 

“Sounds about right,” Clint said.

Natasha smiled, satisfied, as something in lock clicked. “Open,” she said, standing up and dusting off her knees. “Do we have a plan?”

All three of them looked to Steve, who said, “Sublevel five. Whatever Pierce is doing, it’ll be down there. We won’t be able to get in with our ID’s. We can wait in the hall for one of Pierce’s men and we’ll overpower him. Make him open the door.”

The whole thing turned out much simpler than that. After creeping through the darkened, silent lobby and down five flights of stairs, they came charging around the corner, hoping to take someone by surprise. But there was no one there and when Clint tried tugging on the handle of the door, to Steve’s vast disbelief, it swung open easily.

“Is that a bad sign or a good sign?” Clint asked, peering down the empty hallway.

“Guess we’ll have to wait and find out,” Sam said grimly, readjusting his grip on his gun. 

Steve tried to walk through the door, but Natasha breezed by him first, spinning a wickedly sharp knife in her hand as she did so. “Ladies first. Rogers.”

They followed her, training keeping them dead quiet and cleared each room as they came to it. The first few rooms were what you’d find in any office building: conference rooms, and private offices, even an employee lounge. All of them were as empty as the lobby. They went for so long without seeing anything even remotely suspicious that Steve began to have doubts. Had they brought Bucky here at all? Were they looking in the wrong place?

Then they hit a long stretch of empty hallway, and Steve was so used to seeing nothing that it took him a second to recognize what was in front of them. Two agents, guarding another hulking steel door. Natasha and Sam were on them in a flash, clearly not as startled as Steve. In a matter of seconds both men had been disarmed and knocked out. Steve felt a sudden wave of annoyance at himself. He was getting lost inside his own head, focused on his thoughts and not the mission. It had to stop or someone would get hurt. 

He rushed over to help Natasha, grabbing hold of one of the agent’s feet as she hauled up by the arms, moving his prone body out from in the front of the door. Beside them, Clint and Sam were doing the same with the other man. 

“What is this?” Clint asked, grunting with the weight of the agent. 

“Prison,” Natasha said grimly, dropping her man none too gently to the ground.

“Thought that was on the first level.”

She cast a glance over the steel door. It was thick, windowless. “For regular prisoners, yeah. This is maximum security, where SHIELD used to send people who they wanted to disappear.”

“Used to?”

“It hasn’t been used much in the last few years.”

“Then what the hell is Pierce doing with it?” Steve murmured. He felt uneasy, looking at the vast expanse of steel.

“No time like to present to find out,” Sam said, straightening up. In his hand was an ID bade, swiped from the unconscious agent. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

What they found was nothing.

They crept by rows and rows of empty cells and unused guard stations. The space was much bigger than Steve had assumed by looking at the door. It stretched out, more cells than Steve could ever image SHIELD needing, especially for such a maximum security area. He was just starting to wonder if they should turn back, try looking elsewhere when a sound hit his ears. 

It was a groan, long and low. One look at the others confirmed they had heard it too. Silently, Steve took point and pressed himself up against the wall, peering carefully around the corner. He didn’t see any agents, though, but movement in one of the cells caught his eye. He stepped around the corner, gun ready, to get a better look.

“What the fuck?” Clint had voiced what Steve was thinking. “Is that griffin I thought they’d all been run out of the city.”

“They have,” Natasha said grimly, peering at the creature. Huge iron bars made up it’s cell and there were shackles around it’s feet and throat, all linked to a heavy steel ring set into the wall.

“What’s wrong with it?” Sam said, taking a step closer. 

There _was_ something wrong with it, though Steve didn’t have a clue what. The creature was slumped against the wall of the cell, chains hanging loose. It’s coat was marred by patches of missing feathers and fur and it’s eyes were glazed over, staring at nothing. There was no reaction as they came closer, and if not for the slow rise and fall of it’s abdomen, Steve would have assumed it was dead. 

“There’s another one over here,” Clint called, a few cells down. 

With one last look at the miserable griffin, Steve hurried to join him. This time it was gorgon. She looked just as bad as the griffin, the snakes wound through her hair barely managing a hiss as they stared. Her clothing was stiff with dried blood, days old by the look of it, and she looked weakly at them as they walked by, eyes tracking but making no effort to move. 

It was the same all the way down the row. Creatures, ranging from the mundane, daily sights to creatures that Steve had only ever seen in textbooks. Some were completely new to him, things he didn’t even have a name for. And all of them were just as lifeless as the first two. 

“Blood,” Natasha said, stopping in front of a cell that held a kobold. It looked small and fragile, with shackles that had been fitted for it’s size. 

“What?” Steve said, swallowing down bile. He had spent his life hunting creatures, but this was… Half of these weren’t even dangerous, the kind of creatures that SHIELD used to look the other way on as long as they stayed out of trouble. But here they were, half-dead with all the rest. He felt sick.

“Look at it’s arm,” Natasha said, pointing at the kobold. Steve peered into the cell, eyes straining to pick out details in the dim light of the prison. He quickly saw what Natasha was talking about. The kobold’s small arm was bruised and scabbed over in a dozen places, like it had been stuck repeatedly with a needle. Some marks looked almost healed while a few fresher ones still actively leaked blood. 

“Tortue?” The word felt slimy in Steve’s mouth.

“No,” Sam said, stepping up beside them. He looked at Natasha. “I thought that old myth had died out.”

“Apparently not.” The frown etched onto Natasha’s face was grim. 

“What’s the myth?” Clint asked.

The words scratched at the back of Steve’s mind, a memory that he could grasp onto if only he could reach a little bit further. A drop of blood oozed down the kobold’s arm. It hit him. “Blood magic.”

Natasha’s frown deepened as she nodded. He could see the moment realization dawned on Clint, repulsion evident in his eyes. Sam stood silent. 

_Blood magic_. It hadn’t been practiced for centuries, wasn’t even reach magic at all, just the unwavering beliefs of a few zealots that had grown in popularity as the years went by, until science had proven it all wrong. That had been so long ago, it was hard to believe that in this day and age there could still be those who believed. But looking at the creature in the cage, and the long row of others just like him, the proof was impossible to deny. And the core of their beliefs, their one unshakeable gospel: to consume the blood of creatures was to give that person their strength and power.

And Pierce was one of them.

“This isn’t right,” Steve said, voice barely a whisper.

Sam looked at him, shaking his head. “It’s not.”

“And how is what we do any better?” Steve couldn’t keep the sudden bitterness from his voice. 

Natasha looked angry now. “We don’t do _this_ , Steve.

“We hunt them down, kill them. We might as well be!”

They were facing each other now, each gearing up for a fight as Sam and Clint did their best to intervene. “Hey now,” Sam said, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He shrugged it off as Clint tugged at Natasha’s elbow, pulling her back. 

“We can discuss the morality of all this _later_ ,” Sam hissed. “Right now we have a mission, that you seem to have forgotten about.”

Guilt, searing in his gut. That he had forgotten about Bucky- even for a second, even amidst the overwhelming evidence of SHIELD’s betrayal- made him sick. And then something happened, that erased it all instantly.

The attack came swiftly and without mercy. In seconds, they were swarmed by agents, surrounded on all sides. It was pure chaos, the dim lighting and crowded space making it nearly impossible to tell what was happening with his friends. Steve searched frantically through the melee as he fought, body moving automatically in all the ways it had been trained. 

An agent he didn’t recognize came flying towards him, knife in his hand. At the last second Steve ducked and swept his leg out from under him. As the agent tumbled to the concrete floor his knife went flying, lost amongst the fighting. His head hit the concrete with a sickening crack and he lay still. Steve barely had time to check for a pulse (still there) before another man came at him. 

Suddenly, Sam was in front of him, catching the man in the side of the head with butt of his gun. The man dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Sam extended a hand to Steve, pulling him up. For a brief moment, they seemed to occupy a quiet space in the fray, both breathing hard and pumped full of adrenaline from the fight. Off to the side, Clint was going punch for punch with an agent, blood dripping from a cut on his cheekbone. Behind him, Natasha was on the ground, arms wrapped around another agent’s neck, who was quickly losing consciousness. She let go as soon as he slipped to the ground. 

“Go!” Sam said, as he dodged a kick from a new attacker. “Now, we got this!”

For a split second, Steve hesitated, and then a strong pair of arms pushed him squarely in the back, almost taking his breath away. “Go idiot!” Natasha said. He looked back and she smiled cheekily at him as ducked a punch. “Try not to die!”

“No promises!” he called, taking the gift for what it was. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, everything fighting within him. It felt like being split in half- the intense need to stay with his friends warring with his burning need to find Bucky.

He turned his head slightly as he ran, for one last glimpse of Sam and Natasha and Clint, and that was his first mistake. A searing pain in his temple flamed through him, reigniting the fire that was his earlier head injury. 

“Rogers.”

Steve soldiered through the pain. “Rumlow,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

Rumlow smiled, a smug and nasty thing as he pocketed his knives. He cracked his knuckles as he spoke. “I think we should do this one the old-fashioned way. Just me and you.”

Behind him, he heard the sounds of other people fighting as though they were very far away. “I don’t have time for _you_ ,” Steve spat, and ended the standoff with a sudden movement, launching himself at Rumlow. 

Rumlow was too good to fall for a direct attack, anticipating Steve’s move as he faked to the side, meeting him head on instead. Steve barely got his hands up in time to block a stinging blow. Rumlow must have noticed his head injury, was going for another hit to his skull instead of vulnerable spots like his stomach. 

Rumlow threw another punch that Steve ducked, before connecting a foot with the back of Rumlow’s knee. He stumbled, but righted himself before Steve could get in another hit, instead landing one of his own. It was like facing down a barrage; Rumlow wasn’t injured, wasn’t exhausted like Steve was, had almost the same training and most importantly, unlike Steve, he wasn’t concerned with if he killed his opponent. 

A fist connected briefly with his ear, and Steve couldn’t help the shout of pain that escaped. The world was tilting wildly on it’s axis, his balance shot and the ringing in his ears reaching an unbearable pitch. Rumlow caught him again, this time in the nose, and Steve felt the crack of breaking cartilage. Blood dripped down from his nose as he twisted out of the way of a kick, unsteadiness nearly brining him to his knees. 

No, scratch that, it _did_ bring him to his knees. He barely felt it as his kneecaps smacked into the solid concrete floor. He had landed in front of a cell, cold iron bars at his back. Nowhere to go. Rumlow was above him, a nasty smirk on his lips on he closed in, fist pulled back for the punch that would surely knock Steve out. He could see it coming but couldn’t stop it. He kept his eyes wide open though, staring at Rumlow with burning hatred, refusing him the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. 

The hit never came. Rumlow stopped in midlunge, eyes bugging out, the look of surprise on his face almost comical. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Steve scrambled up and away. There was something in the cell, something huge and dark. Eyes shone out of the darkness, at least a dozen of them and the creature made a clicking noise as it wrapped another long leg around Rumlow’s throat, joining the two that were already squeezing tight. 

Rumlow’s face was purple, his eyes red where the blood vessels had burst. There was spittle forming at the corners of his mouth as it opened and closed for air that wouldn’t come. For a sickening moment, Steve stood frozen, indecision freezing him in place, before he launched into action. Pulling the knife from his belt, he sliced at the creature’s legs where they extended from the cell. He made his attacks as light as he could, but the knife still bit deep and the creature screeched at him from the darkness of his cell. He threw himself backwards as more legs came flying out from between the bars to grab him, dropping down and grabbing hold of Rumlow’s feet. He yanked hard, and the creature, distracted and injured, lost it’s grip on Rumlow’s neck. Steve couldn’t avoid the way his head hit the floor on the way down, and to be honest, he’s wasn’t entirely sorry about it.

Down the row, his friends were still fighting, but a quick glance showed that they were more than holding their own. At his feet, Rumlow was passed out, worse for the wear, but chest still rising and falling. The creature, that Steve now saw resembled some sort of horrible giant spider, had retreated back to the corner of its cell, the broken shackles hanging down off of it. A dumb stroke of luck had saved him from Rumlow, it seemed. 

At the end of the row stood another steel door, locked down tight like the one into the prison had been. A keypad’s red light shone beside the handle and Steve gripped one of the stolen ID’s in his hand as he stalked toward it. His mouth was filled with the taste of copper and he spat blood to clear it. His gripped the handle of his knife. He knew it, could feel it, that past this door was where he would find Bucky- and Pierce. He had tried his hardest to spare his fellow agents; they could face whatever justice was coming to them. But for Bucky, he would kill.

The door slid open noiselessly to reveal a large room lined with computer banks and monitors. Each display showed a different part of the prison, and on several of them Steve could see his friends still fending off their attackers. And there, at the back of the room, lay Bucky. He was unconscious, sporting a nasty split lip and a head wound, judging from the dried blood along his hairline. His chest rose and fell unsteadily, arms twisted behind him and held there with some sort of binding. His legs were bound as well, so tightly that even awake, he wouldn’t be able to move an inch. 

And there, next to him, was Pierce.

“Agent Rogers. How nice of you to join us.” Pierce smiled as he spoke, an ugly thing that didn’t reach his cold eyes. He was sitting casually in one of the man chairs set up for watching the monitors, Bucky at his feet. He looked for all the world as relaxed as if he and Steve were just old friends catching up, not two men in a standoff that may well result in one of them dead. Steve could almost have believed it if not for the long knife Pierce was holding loosely in one hand. 

“I can see the wheels turning over there, Agent,” Pierce said calmly. “Make one move and I’ll slit his throat. He’s not the only dragon in the world. I can get another.”

“Why are you doing this?” Steve demanded. His fists were clenched at his sides, body tense as a bowstring. Not moving, not going to Bucky was the hardest thing he had ever done.

“I’m doing this for you,” Pierce said, leaning forward now, right hand tightly gripping the knife. “I’m doing this for every person in this city.” He pointed at Bucky with the knife. “We have been too lenient on these monsters for too long. Something has to be done.”

“Lenient?” Steve asked, his voice raising in volume as he went. “We’ve been killing them! Destroying their lives and their families! SHIELD’s mission is to protect and contain! Not this!” Steve threw his arms wide, encompassing the banks of monitors showing miserable creatures in their cells. “This is torture.”

Pierce was still so infuriatingly calm. “SHIELD’s mission is to make the world a safer place to live.”

“But just for some, right?” Steve asked bitterly.

“For the ones who matter,” Pierce replied. “And I’m doing that. When I’m done with these monsters, SHIELD will be the most powerful force in the world. Once we’ve weeded out the weak, of course.” He smiled again, cruelly. Steve had no doubt at all who he was referring to. 

“You’re crazy,” Steve said. 

Pierce tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Maybe,” he agreed with a shrug. “But you won’t have to worry about that once my men are done with your friends out there. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure the brave agents who took down such a vicious monster-“ with one foot he kicked at Bucky’s side “-at the cost of their own lives are buried with all the highest honors. 

“Fuck you,” Steve growled out. He was still frozen in place, unable to go help his friends, unable to run to Bucky. It was maddening, his head was spinning, heart poundings, muscles twitching and then-

Bucky moved. 

It was a small movement, just the slightest curl of his fingers. But then, he moved again. Fingers clenching and unclenching, wrists twisting slightly, testing the range of his motion. His eyes opened just a fraction to take in the room. He seemed to analyze the situation faster than Steve could have imagined, eyes widening as he saw Steve, and then body stilling completely as he saw Pierce. 

Steve looked quickly. Pierce was still locked onto him, hadn’t noticed the small movements down at his feet. He had to do something, had to give Bucky time to- do what, exactly? Steve had no idea, but he knew he had to keep Pierce talking, keep his attention off of everything else happening in the room. And then the rest would have to be up to Bucky. 

“Why Bucky?” he said, staring Pierce down with fury in his eyes. “Why his family? There are other dragons you could have gone after, so why them?”

“Ah, they were a lucky find. I had gone out looking for a basilisk, and just happened to stumble on a family of dragons living nearby.” He looked suddenly sad. Steve wanted to punch the expression off of his face. “Image my disappointment when they turned out to be so weak! Going against their own malicious natures because they were so afraid of humans that they’d rather settle for rabbits. They were useless to me.” Steve saw Bucky, who was now flexing against the binding, stiffen, his face twisting into a snarl. 

“Then why kill them?” Steve said. His temper flared even hotter than he had thought possible. It was like fireworks were exploding behind his eyes. “Why not leave them alone if there were so _weak_?” 

Pierce’s look could freeze fire. “Because things like that don’t deserve mercy,” he said. “My only regret is that I haven’t been able to catch another. I hate using this one.” He kicked at Bucky again and Steve drew in a sharp breath, but Pierce was so caught up in talking that he didn’t even look down. “But I suppose beggars can’t be choosers. Now don’t you think it’s time we got on with it, Agent Rogers?”

Several things happened at once. The door behind him opened as Steve lunged forward towards Bucky, at the same time that Bucky exploded out of his bindings. His new metal wing burst open, shredded fabric and rope as it spread to it’s full extent. His eyes blazed with a blue light so intense it was blinding and claws sprouted from his fingertips. 

It all happened so fast that Pierce didn’t have time to do anything but turn and stare. The look on his face was so surprised it was almost comical. In one swift movement that was all blurred wings and sharp teeth, Bucky had his claws at Pierce’s throat. “Should’ve killed me the first time, asshole,” he said, voice full of venom. 

And then his claws ripped across the soft skin of Pierce’s throat. Pierce tried to speak, eyes wide, but all that happened with a bubbling, gurgling sound as blood poured from the wound. His body toppled forward on to the ground, blood spreading in a pool around him. Bucky stood over him, wings spread to their full extent, claws extended and dripping, eyes inhuman and breathing hard. He was terrifying and beautiful and Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest. Their eyes locked and something unspoken passed between them. 

“Holy shit!”

The moment was broken by Clint’s shout. Bucky’s claws retracted, his wings folding back in on themselves as Steve spun around. In the doorway stood Natasha and Clint, battered and exhausted but alive.

Natasha crossed her arms and looked around impassively. An ugly bruise covered her left cheekbone and there was blood on her knuckles. “Looks like you two had all the fun without us.”

“Where’s Sam?” Steve asked, panic setting in. 

“Calm down,” Natasha said, holding up her hands. Steve felt the panic subside slightly. “He’s checking on all the prisoners. Trying to see what exactly they’ve been up to in here. 

As if summoned by his name, Sam appeared at the doorway, looking equally as beat up, but with a wry smile on his face. “Look who I found,” he said. At his side was a young man who looked eerily familiar, though Steve was sure he had never met him in his life. Then it hit him.

“Pietro?” he asked.

The young man nodded. His clothes were filthy, his dyed blonde hair badly in need of a wash, but otherwise he looked unharmed. He acknowledged Steve when he spoke but he only had eyes for Bucky, who was now standing beside Steve, watching warily. Pietro stepped forward without fear, hands reaching for the bruised side of Bucky’s face.

“Let me help you with that,” he said quietly. His accent was slight, and his mannerisms reminded Steve powerfully of his sister. Suddenly, everything slotted into place. 

“You’re a healer,” Steve said. Pietro nodded again. “That’s why Pierce took you, isn’t it? You’ve been keeping them alive while he did his dirty work.”

Pietro’s face was bitter. “I did what I could. It was not enough.”

Bucky gently batted Pietro’s hands away. “I’m okay, kid.” He looked intently at Pietro, his eyes still blazing blue. “You gave them a chance. You’re a hero for that.”

Pietro looked on the verge of crying. Sam stepped up, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “You know, we’ve got someone who can’t wait to see you.”

Pietro perked up. “Wanda? Is she alright?”

Steve nodded. “She’s fine, just missing you.”

That seemed to cheer him up immensely. Bucky turned his gaze to Steve, his pupils widening out, color fading back to slate-gray. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

Steve sighed and forced a small smile. “Okay as I can be,” he said. He raised a hand to Bucky’s face, stroking gently over his bruised cheekbone. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

The kiss was sweet and simple and the best thing that had ever happened to him. His heart felt full, all the confusion and complications of the days that were sure to be ahead of them pushed to the side for now. None of that mattered. Bucky was safe and they loved each other. The rest they could figure out in time.


End file.
